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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688622">Little Fires</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_shiver/pseuds/velvet_shiver'>velvet_shiver</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Camp Time, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Summer Romance, Trauma, brian is a nurse?, everyone is trying, frank is the sweetest, gerard is angsty, mikey has to deal with too much shit, past abusive relationships, ray is trying, so does pete lowkey, too many side characters, too many tags</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:08:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>75,412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_shiver/pseuds/velvet_shiver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A traumatizing (and embarrassing) accident has kept Gerard Way away from Camp Warren for eight summers — eight summers which Mikey Way has spent at camp — but after a shitty breakup and terrible freshman year at School of Visual Arts, Gerard is forced to return to Camp Warren; this time as a counselor and art instructor. Gerard’s pretty sure the summer’s gonna be a total shit-show, until he meets Mikey’s cool friends.<br/>One of them’s a little cooler than the others, though. His name’s Frank, and he’s got moonlight in his eyes.<br/>–––––––––<br/>Little Fires is a story about falling fast, confronting different types of trauma, and learning how to not be such an asshole. This is a completed chapter fic that I will update frequently.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alicia Simmons/Mikey Way, Frank Iero/Adam Lazzara, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Original Female Character, Gerard Way/Original Male Character, Lindsey Ballato/Original Female Character, Pete Wentz/Original Female Character, Ray Toro/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s gonna be fine, Gee,” Mikey said to Gerard, wiggling his glasses up his nose, “and besides, you have no choice. Donna’s rules.”<br/>-----<br/>a deal is a deal. <br/>gerard meets some folks, and gets used to camp life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we're setting things up. we're getting the ball rolling. we're oiling the gears so that they may turn with more ease — and boy, do they turn.<br/>anyway, enjoy the first chapter! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Loose gravel from the dirt road crunched underneath the tires of Gerard’s blue ‘97 Camry. The trees on either side of the road loomed over the car, enveloping and inescapable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s hands tightened around the wheel. “This is a terrible fucking idea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey sighed. “Hold on a second, Ray,” he said into his cellphone, “I gotta deal with something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard glanced over at Mikey. His sandy brown hair was plastered to his forehead with summer sweat, and he wore a scowl on his face. Mikey was a full year behind Gerard in age, but like, at least six ahead in life. He was the wisest, coolest eighteen year old Gerard had ever known — yet he still couldn’t keep his glasses from falling down his face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be fine, Gee,” Mikey said to Gerard, wiggling his glasses up his nose, “and besides, you have no choice. Donna’s rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey returned to his phone call. Gerard scratched his cheek, and recalled his mother’s bargain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been sitting in the backyard, celebrating America’s independence by smoking cigarettes and eating their weight in hot dogs and hamburgers. Mikey was away, enjoying another summer at Camp Warren, and Gerard was preparing for his first year at School of Visual Arts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna parked another Marlboro between her coral pink lips. “I’ll help pay for SVA,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gerard stared as she lit her cigarette, seeing his stupefied face in the reflection of her sunglasses. “Can you even afford that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Initially, Grandma had tuition covered, but then they had to spend half her money on the damages caused by last week’s tropical storm. Gerard had protested the repairs, saying he “could handle the damp carpet”, that the basement had “always kind of smelled like mold anyway”, that things were “pretty serious” with Daniel and he could probably just move in with him — but Donna had just shaken her head and gone upstairs to call the plumber, leaving Gerard alone in the river of his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna took a long drag. “Yeah…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard felt suspense rest on his shoulders, heavy like the heat from the sun above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…if you do the camp counselor thing with your brother next year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard froze. “You’re joking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in the slightest,” she responded, smoke blowing from the corner of her smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going back there, Mom,” Gerard protested. He leaned forward and grabbed his beer off the table, taking a huge, too-fast sip. “I’ll just ask Daniel to help,” he burped, “he’ll do it, I know he will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not letting him pay for your school, Gerard.” She said, staring at him through her sunglasses. “He’s your boyfriend. Not your husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gonna</span>
  </em>
  <span> be my husband,” Gerard asserted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I fucking hope not,” Donna laughed. The graying roots of her hair showed as she shook her head and chuckled. “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>man.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If I married my first boyfriend…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, Mom. Stop,” Gerard huffed as his mom smirked in her chair. “Anyway,” he grumbled, “I’m not going to camp, so we need to figure something else out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donna tapped her ashes into the tray on the table. “There is no ‘something else’, baby,” she said. “Listen, I know you’re gonna be cooped up in your dorm for the entire year like the vampire basement-dweller you are, and yeah, you’ll probably be creating something fantastic, like you always do —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard narrowed his eyes, as if doing so would block out the flattery rays she was sending his way. Part of him thought maybe this had been her plan all along, that maybe she was secretly in the X-Men, and had used her powers to usher in that life-ruining storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“— but you can’t be a hermit for the entire year. You’re going to camp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that’s how he ended up here; driving 65 miles per hour down a dirt road in rural Massachusetts, hopping from one shitty existence to the next like a frog in a septic tank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>SVA hadn’t lived up to the hype at all. The creativity he was forced to perform every single day had drained his inspiration, he hadn’t kept any friends, and Daniel breaking up with him was just the icing on the shit-filled cake — but Donna had held up her end of the deal, and Gerard had no choice but to uphold his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This summer’s gonna be fucking sick,” Mikey grinned into the phone. “Is anyone there yet? Frank probably is, right? What about Brian. Bob?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard bit his nail as he listened to Mikey talk. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this; ready for the social interaction, the responsibility, the lake — oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fucking lake. Gerard’s mouth went dry as he recalled how frightening it’d been when the boat started capsizing and his lifejacket got tangled in the pulley, how scared he was to take it off, how much it hurt when the boom swung at his stomach and sent him overboard, how dark it was underwater; how disgusting he felt watching those leeches suckle on his pale hairless skin, how helpless he’d been. That’d happened eight years ago, and he hadn’t gone near a lake since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard clenched his jaw as his eyes landed on the sign that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>CAMP WARREN: 25 MILES. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah!” Mikey laughed, “aw man, Ray. I’m so excited. We’ll see you soon, dude. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked in the rearview mirror. He saw his and Mikey’s belongings all piled up on top of one another in the backseat — Mikey’s black and gold trunk and his favorite pillow from home (the one with the pillowcase made out of an old Anthrax t-shirt, courtesy of Grandma), Gerard’s green trunk with his bag of art supplies shoved against the window, and in between, two sleeping bags and two backpacks — and realized they’d come too far to turn around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard jumped at the snap of Mikey’s phone shutting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Mikey!” He shouted, glaring at his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, it’s not gonna be the same.” Mikey looked at the trees flying by his window, smiling. “It’s way different as a counselor, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sure fucking hope so,” Gerard huffed, turning his eyes back to the road. He heard the swish and clatter of ice cubes in liquid, and reached down to grab the 24 oz iced coffee his brother had used to coax him out of the house that morning. The plastic was cold and refreshing against his palm, and having something to hold quelled the shake of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we’ll both be newbies at it, I guess,” Gerard mused, taking a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Mikey agreed. “You’re gonna have fun, dude. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>Gerard was not having any fucking fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sweating in places he’d forgotten could sweat, the water in his refillable bottle tasted like metal (the sinks at Camp Warren were like, fucking 80 years old), and the bright yellow staff t-shirt he’d been given was still fresh and starchy and fluted out weirdly at his biceps. The rising, shining sun on the front of the shirt couldn’t have been more ill-fit to his current, pouty mood. He stared at himself in the bathhouse mirror as the tape in his head replayed: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is a fucking terrible idea.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the pink sunburns that were forming on the high points of his face, and shuddered as he imagined what he’d look like after seven more weeks in the sun. He pulled his hair back, bemoaning his reddened skin and the length of his hair. There was no way he was going to wear it up in a tiny little bun, or a ponytail, or —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” Mikey called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard watched as his brother appeared behind him in the mirror, wearing his yellow t-shirt and a bright smile. The little grains of sand stuck between the tracks of Gerard’s shoes made a skin-crawling crunch as he turned to face Mikey. “What?” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon!” Mikey beamed, gesturing excitedly out the door. “Ray’s here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dirt that was under Gerard’s feet now felt unstable. He could feel his feet digging into it, aware of how his steps made dents in the earth. He missed the city, missed how the concrete was hard under his feet; how the buildings seemed unmoveable. It wasn’t like that here. Everything was alive: the trees, the bugs in the dirt and bushes, the air — and Mikey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey was running full speed towards the Subaru Outback pulled up outside Cabin 8A, kicking up dirt behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray!” He yelled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow and speed-walked out of Mikey’s dust cloud, slowing his pace as he drew nearer to the wooden cabin. By its steps, there was a tall dude with big hair and muscular arms spinning Mikey in his embrace. Gerard felt the ice around his heart melt, smiling at the same time Mikey’s feet met the dirt and Ray’s eyes met his own. Ray was handsome. He had kind eyes, and their gaze put Gerard at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You’re Gerard,” Ray said, sticking his hand out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Gerard agreed, like a weirdo. He shook Ray’s hand, unsurprised to find that Ray’s grip was much stronger than his own. “I definitely am Gerard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard glanced back at Mikey in a way that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ve been talking about me, haven’t you?, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which prompted an </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course I have </span>
  </em>
  <span>glance back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re Ray,” Gerard went on, “it’s nice to meet you, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, man,” Ray smiled. </span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>The cabin was a small, wooden structures with four windows on the long sides and two in the front; bunk beds on the floor, and scribbles all over the walls. It had a sauna-like scent, warm and not yet sullied by the stench of pre-teen boys and young adult men. Gerard feared he was already stinking up the joint, but that didn’t matter so much because all three of them were sweating, worked up from hauling their shit into the cabin. Gerard crashed down on his freshly made bed and let out a deep breath. Ray and Mikey soon followed suit, and they quietly heaved in the heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mandatory that counselors slept on the bottom bunks, which sucked because they were right next to the windows (the windows with only a screen between them and the outside world, a screen which Jason Vorhees could slice through without a single issue) but Gerard supposed it wouldn’t be fair if one of the campers to had to live in fear of a counselor crushing them to death, or something. Out the window, he could see more cars drawing into the Junior unit, and assumed more of the same was happening all across camp. But if everyone was as cool as Ray, Gerard had nothing to fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing the Art Shed this summer, right, Gerard?” Ray said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard turned his head to look at the dude. He had his arms behind his head, ankles crossed over another. Mikey was in the corner bunk, his bed shoved longways against the wall with his feet towards Ray’s head. He was clacking away on his phone, as usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard said, turning over onto his stomach, holding a pillow under his chest, “I’m actually sort of looking forward to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s head popped up at that. He gave his brother an approving glance, and Gerard returned it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sweet,” Ray smiled. “I’m doing Music in the Rec Center,” he motioned to his guitar case, “so we’ll be neighbors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already are, dude,” Gerard laughed, gesturing to the couple yards of floor space between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray pointed at him and smiled. “True.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit!” Mikey sprang up, grinning at his phone. “Alicia’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiiiiit,” Ray said, sucking his teeth, “here we go again…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard,” Mikey said, “Alicia’s that girl from last summer. The one with the —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black hair and black makeup and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pantera </span>
  </em>
  <span>t-shirt, yeah, I remember the story,” Gerard said. “You haven’t shut up about her since last summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray laughed at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard grinned, and turned his attention back to Mikey. “Is everything cool?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> cool,” Mikey smirked, making Gerard’s skin crawl. “I don’t think I’ll see her until tonight,” he said to Ray. “Gotta keep her waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mikey,” Gerard groaned, scowling at his brother. “You’re such a dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Ray jumped in, “this is like, their thing, y’know? Making each other wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Mikey blushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray spoke to Gerard. “You’ll see what I mean, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard widened his eyes. “I really hope to fuck I don’t,” he laughed.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, Gerard, Mikey, and Ray woke up from their accidental naps and heeded the call to flagpole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was on the edge of setting. Gerard was standing in his ugly yellow shirt and a pair of dark jeans, hands in his pockets. Beyond the tree-fenced cliff to his left, Gerard could see the still water of Lake Quaboag. He felt a shiver run up his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his attention back to the semicircle of counselors. He counted about 50 (</span>
  <em>
    <span>2 to 3 for every group of eight kids</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mikey had explained), all wearing yellow staff shirts. Some people had cut the sleeves off to flex muscular arms, while others had cut the midriff to show off belly button piercings and curvaceous hips. Gerard tried not to think about either, and focused on Craig instead. The one year Gerard had been a camper, Craig had been director of the Freshman unit. It warmed his heart to see the guy move up in the ranks, and introduce himself as “Camp Director Craig, CDC for short”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The camp is 53 acres large, all of which you’ll become well-acquainted with by the end of this three-day orientation…or </span>
  <em>
    <span>else,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Craig joked, looking down his nose at the semi-circle, trailing his pen along its arc. There was restrained laughter from the group, but Gerard let out a heartfelt chuckle. Craig was just, like, such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>goofy </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude. He had these big, wide blue eyes, and large teeth. His legs looked like toothpicks sticking out of his green cargo shorts, the same ones Gerard was pretty sure he’d worn when he’d been a camper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Craig went on about what activities the camp had to offer, but the psychic buzz Gerard was picking up from his younger brother distracted him. He looked to Mikey and saw that his eyes were glued to a group of dudes at the left end of the semi-circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one pale guy with a shaved blonde head and two rings through his lower lip, another with spiky black hair and an eyebrow piercing, and another shorter dude with an insane haircut. It was short on the sides, except for a group of long pieces that curled down at his cheek — Gerard didn’t know what to make of it. It was like, maybe a failed Danzig thing? — as well as a lip and nose ring. The eyebrow piercing guy and the haircut dude both had tattoos, too. As Gerard’s eyes scanned down their inked arms, he noticed Haircut Dude’s hand was curled up, boasting a proud middle finger. When Gerard looked up, the dude had an evil smirk on his face. Gerard would have mistaken him for an enemy, if Mikey hadn’t been doing the exact same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are those guys?” Gerard whispered, leaning into Mikey’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking at him, Mikey spoke. “That’s Bob, Brian, and Frank. The camp homies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They look like Jersey punks,” Gerard whispered back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s ‘cuz they are,” he looked over his glasses at Gerard, “or, at least, Frank is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s from Jersey?!” Gerard squeaked. “Why haven’t I met him before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He moved to Massachusetts when his parents split,” Mikey explained. “But don’t act like you’d have met him before that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The “basement-dweller” jab was implied. Gerard didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray leaned over to whisper and wink, “I’m from Jersey, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” Gerard said, looking around at the crowd, “is everyone here from Jersey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, dumbass,” Mikey replied. “Ray knows Frank from school. Like, before he dipped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Gerard said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He left like, four years ago,” Ray explained. “We reconvene at camp every summer. It’s a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve told me that, Mikey,” Gerard grumbled from the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d care, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard rolled his eyes. He turned his attention back to the speech being given, this time by a woman with a long brunette ponytail and calf muscles the size of Texas. He’d missed her name, but the tag on her shirt looked like it said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Linda </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lisa.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...absolutely no </span>
  <em>
    <span>fraternization </span>
  </em>
  <span>between counselors and counselors in training, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>none should occur between counselors and campers,” she said over the buzzing static coming from her walkie-talkie. “If such an event does take place, you will be swiftly and mercilessly punished to the fullest extent of the law, and banned from these grounds forever,” she explained, her ponytail swishing as she made eye contact with every single one of the counselors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard stared back, wide-eyed. What the fuck?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” she changed her tone, “as counselors, you are all mandated reporters, which means if you think a camper is being abused, you are mandated to report it to someone — ideally, me — and I’ll handle it from there. This is covered in your handbooks, which Samantha will distribute to you right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Samantha, a meek blonde girl with paper-white skin and a nervous smile, passed out yellow handbooks to the surrounding staff. As Gerard took the book into his hands, he realized this was kind of a huge deal — like, a fucking massive responsibility — and his blood began pumping in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a freshman in college, about to be left in charge of other people’s children for seven weeks. Some of those kids would only be three years younger than him, too. They didn’t have to listen to him if they didn’t want to, and oh god, what if they like, staged a mutiny? What if they took over the camp on some </span>
  <em>
    <span>Over The Edge </span>
  </em>
  <span>shit, and burnt the place down, counselors and staff left in the ash? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, this shit was serious.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>Gerard was still thinking about all of this as he pushed the little green peas around his plate. He had Mikey on his left and Ray on his right, the thirteen other Junior unit counselors some ways down the long dining hall table. He kept looking over his shoulder at Brian, who was sitting with the other administrative/senior staff, and then at Bob, who was at the table behind him, sitting with the Senior unit counselors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he looked further down the hall at the Freshman unit counselors, and saw Frank sitting with a cute orange-haired girl. Frank and the girl were tasting each other’s food and laughing; her face twisted with delight each time Frank spoke. Gerard wondered if Frank was actually funny, or if the girl was just laughing because she liked his weird hair and cool tattoos and pretty face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard felt his cheeks get warm, and directed his attention up towards the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard had always liked the </span>
  <em>
    <span>aesthetic</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Camp Warren, if nothing else. It was the kind of place that was frozen in time and yet totally removed from it; like those old diners on the sides of rural highways, or Greyhound bus stations. Camp Warren was like, textbook sleepaway camp: there was an emphasis on earth tones, the food was terrible, and whenever Gerard looked at the basketball courts, he found it easy to imagine a dude in tube socks and a sweatband saying,“toss me the rock!”. There were firepits in every unit too, away from the cabins. Those were for meetings and campfires, which happened often, Ray was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’ll be that big one when the campers get here,” he said between mouthfuls of what was obviously Minute Rice, “we’ll have to introduce ourselves and play icebreakers and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Gerard piped up, his memory jogged. “They did one of those when me and Mikey were campers. That was when they told us the story of Crazy Sam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Mikey laughed, pointing at Gerard. “I remember that. You were so fucking scared, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Gerard shuddered, “I don’t want to relive that memory right now.” Gerard looked down the table again, like he was checking to make sure Crazy Sam wasn’t sitting at the table with them. He wasn’t, but he did see Frank laughing his ass off with that orange-haired girl again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll meet them soon enough,” Mikey nudged Gerard’s shoulder, “don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard glared at his shoulder, then at Mikey. “Why would I be worried?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mikey enunciated as he looked at his phone under the table, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> worry.”</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, everyone was sent back to their respective units for what would be “the first of many, many counselor meetings”, Craig had said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Junior unit firepit was situated next to the basketball court, canopied by tall sycamore trees and covered in shade. It was on the edge of the peninsula, overlooking Lake Quaboag and the fancy homes on its shore. Gerard, Mikey, and Ray were sitting on the water-facing side of the bleachers (Gerard didn’t want to have his back turned to the lake), surrounded by the buzz of hungry mosquitoes and the excited voices of their fellow counselors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard had Mikey to his right, the end of the bench and an old tree stump on his left. He’d chosen the dead-end spot on purpose, because his mouth was going dry at the prospect of having to talk to the thirteen other counselors around him. He kept looking at the stump with wide eyes, like someone was going to choose to sit there just to fuck with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognized some of them from the dining hall. There was a blonde girl with two nose piercings who’d sat at Gerard’s table during dinner. She was sitting on the other side of the firepit, chatting with a brown-skinned girl whose hair was done in dark blue cornrows. Next to them were two dudes hitting on a group of female counselors, some of whom looked like they’d rather be eating glass than listening to the dudes talk. Gerard could relate, his ears were ringing with all the eager voices and loud conversations. He missed the quiet of his basement, and the even louder quiet of his dorm room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, J-Unit!” Someone called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gerard looked up, he saw a dude with a clipboard, staff lanyard, and walkie talkie standing at the mouth of the firepit. He had Oakley sunglasses perched on top of his Crew Cut head, and a wide smile on his square face. His shoes were those sort of goofy looking not-sneakers-not-climbing-shoes-not-sandal things, with the round toe, drawstring up the front, and slits on the sides. Everyone straightened up and stopped talking once they realized he was there, and then a weird hush fell over the enclave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sat up straight and looked at Mikey. He saw that his lips were pulled into a straight line, his eyes laser-focused on the dude, and then suddenly, everyone spoke in militaristic unison:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, sir!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard caught on at the end. Gerard looked at Mikey’s serious expression and shifting eyes, and wondered what would’ve happened if he’d missed his cue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of you might already know me,” Crew Cut said, a smirk on his face, “but I think I see some new faces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crew Cut’s eyes landed on Gerard, and he felt stricken, like he was staring at the face of God. Gerard had been to college orientation, and knew what was coming next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, let’s begin with some icebreakers,” Crew Cut said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s stomach turned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe if I just make myself throw up, I can get out of this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey must have had fucking ESP or something, because as soon as Gerard’s brain finished that thought, he felt Mikey’s hand on top of his. He gave it a pat, and Gerard took a deep breath, letting the warmth of his brother’s hand soothe his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll start,” Crew Cut went on, smiling. “Let’s do our name, where we’re from, what cabin we’re in, and our favorite…” He made a circular motion with his hand, inviting some discussion on the topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Color!” A dude with one long black braid down his back suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ice cream flavor,” said a pale girl with freckles across the bridge of her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Movie?” Mikey said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked sideways at his brother, who was grinning and seemingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>enthused</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be participating. Mikey caught Gerard gawking, and smirked. “Hey,” he muttered to him, “gotta make it interesting, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like that one,” Crew Cut said, pointing one hairy arm at Michael James Way, who smiled like he was incredibly honored to have his suggestion officialized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Connor,” Crew Cut said. “I’m from Western Mass, and I live in the Unit Director house just behind us,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, directing everyone’s attention to the long ranch house a hundred feet away. “You can find me there, and I think my favorite movie’s gotta be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Saving Private Ryan.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course it is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard thought, and then Connor was pointing at him, telling him it was his turn. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he started, tongue feeling heavy as he looked at everyone’s expectant faces. “I’m Gerard,” he said slowly. The blonde girl with the nose rings made this face at him that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>c’mon dude, you can do it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mikey’s hand clasped over his again, and then he cleared his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Gerard. I’m from New Jersey, I’m in Cabin 8A with these guys,” he smiled at Mikey and Ray, who were beaming back at him, and then turned his head back to the group. He saw some smiles, and felt far more at ease. “And my favorite movie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Wars.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He had thought about saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rocky Horror,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but wasn’t ready to expose himself as a freak just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Gerard,” Connor said, and then motioned for the rest of the group to repeat the same thing, and Gerard just about shit his pants when they did. He’d never heard that many people say his name at once — but the attention didn’t stay on him long, because now it was Mikey’s turn, and before he’d even opened his mouth, the girls on the other side of the bleachers were giggling. Gerard didn’t want to know why, but Mikey’s stupid grin told him all he needed to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Mikey,” he said. “This dude right here is my older brother,” he pushed his glasses up his nose and motioned to Gerard, “I’m in Cabin 8A, I’m from New Jersey, and my favorite movie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of The Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he paused, “the 1978 one. Not the remake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray’s favorite movie was Hitchcock’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rear Window, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which Gerard thought was dope. The dude who spoke after him was a blonde guy named Jude, and his favorite movie was nothing, because Gerard wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was watching the lake, observing its eerie stillness. Even with dusk reflected on its serene surface, it still gave him goosebumps. He thought about the creatures that lived in it, about the fish and the turtles and the snails and the worms and the eels and those slimy, stubby, inky-black leeches, with their multiple rows of teeth just waiting to suck the life right out of him, right out of his shoulders and feet and the backs of his knees and —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Connor said, hands on his hips. “Thank you all for participating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard thought, looking around at the relieved faces of every counselor in the circle. He’d zoned out, and hadn’t caught anyone else’s name or nationality or cabin or favorite movie — but he hadn’t gotten yelled at, so he guessed his auto-pilot had been on and he’d been doing the “repeat after me” bit the entire time. That was good, he thought. He rubbed his hands on the tops of his thighs and looked at Mikey, who was already looking back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...see you tomorrow. You’re all dismissed,” Connor said, and the firepit roared back to life with the sounds of shoes and flip-flops clomping against the metal bleachers. “But don’t go sneaking around, alright!?” Connor bellowed, “stay in the Unit, and maybe do some cleaning while you’re at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a chorus of “yes Connor”s, and then Mikey was dragging Gerard back to the cabin.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>Night had fallen fast. Almost as fast as Mikey’s face when Gerard said he wasn’t coming to wherever Mikey and Ray were headed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was kind of what I meant when I said ‘you’ll meet them soon enough’, dude,” Mikey said, looking at Gerard over his shoulder. He was already halfway down the steps, but he was still asking, “you sure you don’t wanna come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard could see Ray standing outside the cabin, hands in his pockets as he waited for Mikey. He bit the inside of his cheek, and turned his eyes up to Mikey. “Nah,” Gerard said, closing the issue of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sandman </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was reading. “I think it’s probably best if I just hang back tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard.” Mikey looked down his nose, over his glasses. He looked so much like Dad when he did that, and it made Gerard’s skin flush cold. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard could tell Mikey was doing that double-checking thing he did: the one that made it impossible for Mom to get mad at Mikey for not trying hard enough to get his mole-person brother out of the house, and the one that always preceded Daniel telling Gerard that parties weren’t that fun, that they’d have more fun just the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, dude,” Gerard replied, hiding a smile as he recalled what he and Daniel got up to when Mikey wasn’t around to walk into the basement unannounced. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Mikey said in that “suit yourself” tone. He checked his hair in the mirror by the door and snuck his lanky body outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard went back to his comic, enjoying the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and Gee?” Mikey popped back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard perked his head up. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let Crazy Sam get you.” The screen door slammed behind him as he made a run for it, disappearing before Gerard could throw anything at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey!” Gerard shot up — but Mikey was gone, and he couldn’t even see him out the window. Gerard settled back against his pillows, huffing as he tried to convince himself that the whomping tree branch atop the cabin was just that, and not the thump of Crazy Sam’s mangled foot.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for tuning in!! i will post a new chapter soon &lt;3 peace luv n rock n roll</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You like vampires?” Someone said.<br/>Gerard looked over his shoulder, clinging to the balcony railing for balance. The voice belonged to Frank — this dude’s always over my shoulder, he thought — but this time, there was no orange haired girl at his side.<br/>“Oh,” Gerard said, hiccuping. “It’s you.”<br/>Frank laughed; a squeaky, pitchy little laugh that sounded like a broken record. “Yeah, it’s me.”<br/>-----<br/>friends, alcohol, boathouse parties, and the moon.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i wanna thank C and M for helping me get this fic done. they proofread, put up with my constant neurotic rambling, and are two of my favorite people in the world &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the morning bugle blew, Gerard was fucking exhausted — but at least he wasn’t exhausted <em> and also </em>puking last night’s binge into the bathhouse toilets. </p><p>Gerard brushed his teeth in the circular wash sink, cringing as he listened to Mikey, Ray, and two other dudes wretch their brains out in the stalls behind him. The wall that separated the boy’s side from the girl’s side of the bath house didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling (some fire safety or air circulation thing), which meant he could also hear the girls puking. <em>Great start to the day, </em>he thought. </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>The smell of plastic mattress covers, latex gloves, and hospital cleaner instantly turned Gerard's morning from sarcastically great to genuinely weird. Being in the infirmary reminded him of the stupid sailboating accident, and as he grimaced at the nostalgic odor, Mikey and Ray slunk into the two plastic chairs by the door.</p><p>Gerard pressed himself against the wall, and then noticed Brian was in the room too. He had his nose stuck in a white binder, the laminated pages catching light as he turned them. There were plastic bins of medicine to his left, and a tall thermos of what smelled like coffee to his right. Gerard noticed he had a little clip-ID on his sensible button up shirt. It read <em> Brian Schechter, Registered Nurse. </em></p><p><em> “Oh,” </em> Gerard said. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he’d never seen a nurse with tattoos and piercings before. It made his weirdo heart swell. </p><p>Brian perked up from the binder, looking at Gerard, and then at Mikey and Ray. “Oh, come <em> on, </em>” he groaned, shutting the binder with a loud clap. “Already, you guys?”</p><p>“We’re sorry,” Ray mumbled, squinting to block out the overhead lights.</p><p>“We fucked up. Went too hard,” Mikey said, head tilted back against the wall, his eyes shut. “We just need some Aspirin, dude.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Brian said, standing up to open the medicine cabinet above the sink to his left, “you and everyone else.”</p><p>“You should have stayed, man,” Ray said to Brian, “it got way fun after you left.”</p><p>“Ray,” Mikey hissed, smacking his pec with the back of his hand.</p><p>Gerard laughed, and then Brian turned around, giving Ray the stink-eye.</p><p>“I didn’t mean it like that!” Ray said with the most energy Gerard had heard all morning. </p><p>Brian kept his gaze on Ray, and closed the medicine cabinet.</p><p>“Brian!” Ray whined.</p><p>“Hah!” Brian chuckled, reopening the cabinet with fervor. “Just kidding,” he said, back turned to the three of them, “‘do no harm’ or whatever they said in med school.” </p><p>A cacophonous rattling of pills ensued, and the two hungover dudes bemoaned the noise. Mikey’s eyes  got small, like he was tasting something sour, and Ray was just pouting; they were a portrait of misery. </p><p>“Here,” Brian said, giving them one pill each.</p><p>Mikey and Ray stared at one another, then looked down at the meek little pills, and then back at Brian like he’d just put dog shit in their hands. </p><p>“Come back in six hours when you need another,” was all Brian said.</p><p>There was some back and forth about “can’t you give us more”, “we don’t wanna have to come back”, and “this is bullshit, dude”, but Brian shut it down. He said it was some new policy: medical staff at camp weren’t allowed to give out more than one dose at a time, because last summer a group of kids and counselor-in-trainings got sick from trying to make their tongues go numb with Tylenol gel pills.</p><p>“Hah!” Someone piped up from behind Gerard. </p><p>He turned around and saw Frank’s bright face and then the smiling orange haired girl at his side. She was wearing an oversized Bowie t-shirt and some flip-flops, while Frank sported a pair of gym shorts and the yellow staff shirt. He looked all scruffy and sleepy, his weird haircut disheveled and cute and flopped over to one side. The girl’s makeup was smudged, and her hair was standing around her head like waving flames. They both looked fucked up, like they’d just — <em>o</em><em>hhhhh. Fucking duh. </em>Gerard felt dumb for not putting it together earlier. A shy smile spread across his face as he flushed deeper into the wall. </p><p>“I remember that,” Frank said, a sloppy grin on his face, “best fucking day ever.”</p><p>“Yeah,” the orange haired girl added, “that was like, the only good thing that happened when we were C.I.Ts.”</p><p>“Hey,” Frank pouted and looked over his shoulder at her, “we met when we were C.I.Ts.”</p><p>“I said what I said,” the girl smirked, then used two fingers to jab Frank in his side. </p><p>“Ow! Fuck you!” He giggled, jabbing her right back. She stumbled back a little, and he caught her wrist, pulling her back to him. As she curled back into him, they exchanged a smirking low-lidded glance, and Gerard felt embarrassed, like he shouldn’t have been looking at them long enough to notice it. </p><p>Mikey noticed it too, though. “You guys are disgusting,” he said.</p><p>Frank and the girl laughed, and then Mikey gulped down the pill Brian had given him. Ray followed suit, and Gerard just stood there, plastered against the wall like one of the tattering CPR instructional posters. </p><p>“Whatever,” Frank said, stepping into the infirmary. He and the girl brushed right past Gerard, but found it in their hearts to give Mikey and Ray some nods of acknowledgement. “Brian,” Frank said, clapping a hand over the Brian’s shoulder. Brian looked up at him with a quizzical expression, pierced eyebrow cocked up. “My medication, please,” Frank said, “and an Ibuprofen for the lady.”</p><p>The girl did a false curtsy with the sides of her oversized shirt.</p><p>Brian let out an exhausted breath. “Coming up, Mr. Iero,” he then turned to the girl, “and Ms. Fraser.”</p><p>“Let’s go,” Gerard said shortly to Mikey and Ray. The delinquents of Cabin 8A had taken their pills, and there was no longer any reason for them to be in the infirmary. "C'mon."</p><p>Frank and the girl (he couldn’t think of her as “Ms. Fraser”, that was too weird) finally acknowledged Gerard's presence with a once-over and a scowl, which made Gerard's chest feel tight, and the room even smaller.</p><p>Gerard looked at Mikey and Ray desperately. "We’re gonna miss flagpole, guys."</p><p>“Damn, that would really suck,” Mikey joked, getting up from his chair. </p><p>“Dude,” Ray said. His chair squeaked as he got to his feet. “It's not funny. If you miss flagpole, Linda gets super pissed.”</p><p>"Not at me, she doesn't," Mikey winked as they headed out the door.</p><p>Gerard grimaced. "Ew, Mikey."</p><p>***</p><p>Breakfast was uneventful. Gerard guessed most of the camp was too hungover to speak, and that the rest of them were just too tired to waste energy flapping their jaws. Waking up at 7:45am was not a normal thing for people under the age of 80, Gerard thought. He’d had trouble with it when he was a camper, and judging by the yawns that kept popping out of his throat, he was going to have difficulty with it now, too. Around the dining hall, he saw people with cups from Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and McDonald’s, touting coffee beverages of all shapes and sizes. Some people even bought their own breakfast, and Gerard wished he’d been one of them, because the french toast sticks and rehydrated scrambled eggs on his plate were making his mouth feel hairy. </p><p>“Mikey,” Gerard said, chasing the awful oral sensation away with watery camp coffee, “are we allowed to go off-campus for meals?”</p><p>“Not really,” Ray jumped in, happily eating the breakfast the kitchen staff had given him. “But if it’s someone’s day off, they can bring things back. My counselors used to do that for us, but that’s like, top secret shit.”</p><p>“Remember like, three summers ago when Max bought us that like, six pound bag of gummy worms Walmart?” Mikey laughed.</p><p>“Oh god,” Ray groaned, “don’t remind me.”</p><p>“...and then we left them on the benches at Senior Field, and they melted to the shit, and then we had to spend our free period picking wet sugar and gelatin and plastic off the bleachers?” Mikey said, still laughing.</p><p>Ray started laughing, and Gerard felt like a bitch for how irritated he could feel himself getting. Mikey had been going to camp for eight years without him, and in that time he’d made six hundred best friends, two hundred girlfriends, and all of these fabulous memories and inside jokes Gerard wasn’t apart of. And that was <em>Gerard's </em>fault. He'd refused to come back to camp, and yeah, he had a good reason, but <em>fuck</em>, this really sucked. Ray and Mikey were a bundle of giggles and remember-whens, and even though Mikey was his own flesh and blood, Gerard still felt like an outsider. He couldn’t add anything to their fucking conversation, so instead of speaking, he took another sip of coffee and let it burn his throat. </p><p>“Hey,” the blonde girl with the nose piercings across the table said, her gray-blue eyes snapping Gerard out of his trance like a bucket of cold water to the face.</p><p>“Yeah?” Gerard said, minding the burn in his throat. The girl was smiling at him, and he felt bad that he didn’t know her name or favorite movie. She seemed nice. She was talking to him, after all. </p><p>She pointed her fork at the french toast sticks on his plate. “Are you gonna eat those?”</p><p>She had an accent. She was either from Australia, New Zealand, or just a really weird part of Massachusetts. “No fucking way,” Gerard chuckled, “you want ‘em?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she said, brushing her piecey blonde bangs from her eyes. “Can I?”</p><p>“Sure,” he shrugged, pushing the plate towards her.</p><p>“Thanks, dude,” she said. “I’m Nat, in case you forgot.”</p><p>He smiled, grateful that he didn’t have to do the asking. “Nice to meet you, Nat,” Gerard replied, “I’m Gerard, in case you forgot.”</p><p>She forked his food onto her plate, and laughed. “I did, actually.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“But you’re in Cabin 8A, right?” She asked, chomping down on one of the french toast sticks.</p><p>“Yep,” he nodded. “With them,” he pointed his thumb in the direction of Mikey and Ray, who were still reminiscing. “What cabin are you in?”</p><p>“7A,” she said, gulping down some orange juice. “Across the way from yours, I think.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said. He sat back in his chair, watching her eat the kitchen food like she was in competition with Ray. Maybe the food was just better than what they had wherever she was from. He should ask her about that, he realized. “Um, are you —”</p><p>“From here?” She jumped in, her eyes piercing and wide. She swallowed the food in her throat. “Or new?” She asked.</p><p>Gerard smiled nervously. “Both,” he shrugged, “either.”</p><p>“No and yes, respectively,” Nat said. “I’m from Australia. I signed up for one of those international camp-counselor program things a few months ago, and viola. Here I am.”</p><p>“That’s sweet,” Gerard said, returning the smile she was boasting. He couldn’t figure out why anyone would voluntarily come to America when it was infamously a shithole country, but maybe the counselor pay grade had been enough to sway her. “Must be weird to be that far from home.”</p><p>“Y’know,” she said, lips turned into a smile, “I don’t really miss it that much.”</p><p>“Me either,” Gerard replied, a little startled by himself. He’d said those words mostly on instinct, but when he let them settle, he realized that maybe it was kind of true — or at least, beginning to be true.</p><p>He smiled, and passed Nat the maple syrup.</p><p>***</p><p>By late afternoon, the counselors had been spread evenly across the camp like aloe vera on a sunburn. Craig and the unit directors had assigned everyone random chores to do, like “clean up the bathhouses”, or “sweep the tennis court”, or “go fish muck out of the bottom of the lake”, or “walk my dog”. Gerard, Mikey, Ray, Nat, and Kelly (the girl with the dark blue cornrows who was also Nat’s co-counselor) were ordered to wash the basketball court.</p><p>“This is the weirdest fucking chore ever,” Mikey observed, dumping another bucket of soapy water on the blacktop. It splashed against his exposed shins, and he made a face.</p><p>Gerard moved the liquid around with the stiff push broom Connor had given him, trying to ignore the hot sun poking holes through the t-shirt on his back. </p><p>“Like…what’s the reason?” Mikey went on, taking a seat on the picnic table a few paces back.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Gerard laughed, pushing a wave of liquid towards Ray, who then used his push broom to send it streaming down to Kelly, who would eventually pass it on to Nat, who’d finish the far end of the court, and then Mikey would have to run back to the slop sink to get more water to dump on the court, and so on and so on until someone passed out from heat exhaustion. <em> Sisyphean.  </em></p><p>“It’s gotta get cleaned,” Kelly yelled from the far end of the court, “because we’re all gonna be throwing up on it later.”</p><p>“Why are we throwing up?” Gerard wanted to know. “Is there another party tonight?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Nat chimed in, hand flat over her brow as she guarded her eyes from the sun. “Are you guys coming?” She asked, looking hopefully at the three dudes.</p><p>Gerard found Mikey and Ray staring at him, Mikey with his blank face, and Ray with his eyebrows up and smile wide. Gerard held the push broom upright with his foot, the stick of it firm in his palm. He didn’t have to think very long. </p><p>“Well,” Gerard said, “if you guys are going, I’m going.”</p><p>“Fuck yes!” Mikey squealed, which made Gerard break into a dumb smile. </p><p>Mikey leaned over to hug him, but Gerard backed away. “Too fucking hot, dude,” he said.</p><p>“My bad,” Mikey said, hands up as he stepped back.</p><p>***</p><p>Nighttime fell again — like the plastic dishes Noah from Freshman unit had dropped during dinner, a moment which prompted everyone in the dining hall to shout “OPAAA” at the top of their lungs — and this time, instead of being cooped up in the cabin, Gerard found himself <em> walking to a fucking party. </em></p><p>Gerard had been to one party during SVA orientation, but he’d only lasted twenty minutes before the creeping desire to go back to his room and call Daniel took over. Daniel had been right, parties really weren’t all that — but a certain lightness in Gerard's chest and gentle flutter in his gut told him this night would be different.</p><p>He was grateful to have changed out of his yellow shirt and into his black hoodie, the one with a hand-drawn patch stitched to the front. Against a black background, there was a pale dude with black hair and blood splattered across his face. His features were all angular and jagged, Gerard's signature sketching style. For color contrast, Gerard had sewn the dark colored patch to the hoodie with white dental floss (thicker and more durable than thread). It was the last thing he made before SVA and Daniel crushed his spirit — but since then, weirdo bookstore clientele and goth grocery clerks had given him compliments on it. Privately, he hoped the same would happen wherever they were going.</p><p>The darkened lake was to his right, all deep and black underneath the starry sky. He turned his head to focus on the fireflies that glittered past his face, the orange light from soon-sleeping cabins, and the rush of evening wind through the tall trees. He looked up ahead at Mikey and Ray, walking arm in arm up the Junior unit path. Their voices filled the night, weaving between the waves of cricket chirps and cicada calls. The dirt underneath his feet felt more solid now. He smiled.</p><p>The boathouse was behind the dining hall, down a long set of stairs nestled into the side of the cliff above the lake. Gerard leaned against the banister at the first step, and felt the distant pumping music from the boathouse rumbling in his veins. He peered down the staircase to peek at its source, but saw only the dim outline of the boathouse, no light emanating from where its windows were. The mix of darkness and distant sound reminded Gerard of when his and Mikey’s dad would take them to the neighbor’s haunted house for Halloween. Light pollution from the city made it difficult to get the place pitch-black, so Mrs. Lombardi and her husband Dale would tape garbage bags to the windows to make it dark inside. The feeling that was building inside Gerard reminded him of standing on the steps of that house: excited by the adventure, but terrified of what it might show him. </p><p>“Are you gonna be okay in there?” Mikey checked in once Ray had disappeared down the steps.</p><p>Gerard shifted his feet. “Yeah,” he said, half-smiling. He felt the excitement and terror wrestling inside him, pulling at different sides of his head — but for once, it seemed like the excitement was winning. He could feel it. He giggled and asked, “nobody’s gonna make me get in a boat, right?”</p><p>“Nobody’s gonna make you get in a boat,” Mikey confirmed. “And they’re in the empty room on the top floor, not the bottom one where they do the first aid.”</p><p>“Alright,” Gerard nodded. "There gonna be booze in there?” </p><p>“Dude,” Mikey said incredulously, “it’s orientation. Of course there’s gonna be booze.”</p><p>“‘Kay,” Gerard grinned, feeling the excitement take over. His mind was buzzing. “Then I’ll definitely be alright,” he hooked his arm in Mikey’s, “let’s go.”</p><p>Mikey beamed. “Sweet.”</p><p>***</p><p>They had, indeed, taped garbage bags to the windows. </p><p>There had also been a towel rolled up tightly and shoved underneath the door, which made getting in the place a little tough, but once Gerard stepped inside, he understood why it was there. A haze of smoke, crawling like marsh fog, swirled about the room. It smelled like cigarettes, weed, and really strong incense, the kind Gerard’s Grandma might have burned on Easter. The place was pretty low-lit; the only light came from some thrift-store looking lamps on the floor, glowing soft and sepia. The music was loud enough to be noticed, but Gerard could still hear everyone’s happy voices over it.</p><p>There were like, twelve other staff members in the room. Nat was sitting on one of the lumpy corduroy couches with a black-haired goth girl (from the way Mikey instantly stood up straight, Gerard guessed that was Alicia) and another blonde girl, who Gerard recognized as Samantha from flagpole. The other guys were there, too. Bob was leaned over the pool table, cue in hand while Ray tossed his back and forth between his palms. A loud <em> clack </em>broke over the raucous music as Bob split the balls, his mouth spreading into a smile at their break. And there was Brian, holding a beer as he chatted with the short, olive-skinned dude who was hanging off Kelly’s arm like a human bracelet. Frank was in the corner, wearing eyeliner (Gerard's heart was on the verge of tears at this point) and smoking something hand-rolled with his fire-haired girl.</p><p>In two chairs by the blacked out lake-facing window, there were two nearly identical, very gangly dudes passing a one-hitter pipe back and forth. They were both wearing tiny sunglasses, light wash denim jeans, and busted up combat boots. They instantly reminded Gerard of like, <em> SLC Punk </em>characters, and he smiled — then he smiled harder when he looked at their feet and saw two fifteen-packs of extra strength Pabst Blue Ribbon, a bottle of Bacardi 151, a jug of orange juice, and a stack of red plastic cups. </p><p>“C’mon,” Mikey said, pulling Gerard towards the two dudes.</p><p>Gerard looked back at the couch, accidentally making eye contact with Maybe Alicia. Oops. He quickly turned his eyes back to Mikey. “Aren’t you gonna talk to —”</p><p>“Not<em> yet, </em>bro,” Mikey hissed over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing.</p><p>Gerard raised his eyebrows and let Mikey tug him further across the room.</p><p>The two dudes looked up as they approached, both of them smiling at the exact same time; and Gerard realized pretty quickly that they were twins. One’s eyes and chin were a little rounder than the other, but still, definitely twins: the rounder-featured one had short black hair, while the other one’s was jaw-length and dirty blonde. The black-haired one wore a tight-fitting cropped black t-shirt and red sunglasses; the blonde haired one wore black sunglasses and a pink cotton camisole, which Gerard found very daring and a little exciting. They had one (matching) earring each, a long chain with a die dangling off it. They looked like cartoon characters, and Gerard wished he had his sketchbook on him.</p><p>“How may we help you, most excellent dudes?” The blonde smiled, blowing a cloud of something very stinky towards Gerard’s face. He coughed.</p><p>“We wanna get drunk, fellow excellent dudes,” Mikey grinned, “and it seems you are the guardians of the stash.”</p><p>“Ah, that we are!” The black-haired one announced, taking the pipe from his sibling. He took a deep inhale and grinned. From the way his features mellowed, Gerard guessed he was having the head rush of his life. He wondered what they were smoking.</p><p>“...<em> because </em> we paid for it. Handsomely, might I add,” the blonde finished, tilting his chiseled features up towards the lingering fleet of smoke, “as we and dear Brian are the only ones of age in this fine establishment.”</p><p>The black-haired one coughed deeply into his elbow. He passed the pipe back to the blonde and spoke again. “What will you offer us in exchange, Brothers Way?”</p><p>Gerard was biting back a smile, because he felt like he was in a real-life MMORPG, talking to a potion seller in a seedy marketplace. <em> Fucking sick. </em> “We have no cash, unfortunately,” he told them.</p><p>“Your money means nothing here,” the blonde said. “How about some cigarettes?”</p><p>Mikey nodded, satisfied with the deal. “Yeah, dude. We can do that.”</p><p>“Excellent,” the black-haired one said, “one pack will earn you…”</p><p>“Four beers, or one very strong cocktail, each,” the blonde jumped in, smiling. “The choice,” he waved his arms over the stores at his feet, “<em>is</em> <em>yours.</em>”</p><p>“Cocktail for me,” Mikey pointed to himself, “and beers for him.”</p><p>Gerard gazed at his brother, and Mikey winked. The blonde got to work on Mikey’s cocktail, while the other one began doling out beers to Gerard.</p><p>“Excellent choice,” the black-haired one said, “my fellow raven-haired friend.”</p><p>“Thank you, friend,” Gerard said, resisting the urge to bow. He shoved the three spare beers in his hoodie pocket, and kept one in his palm. He extended his free hand to the black-haired twin. “Gerard,” he introduced himself.</p><p>The black-haired twin grinned. “Wyatt,” he said, shaking Gerard’s hand.</p><p>“Great to meet you,” Gerard said. He gestured towards Mikey. “This is my brother M—”</p><p>“Mikey,” the blonde piped up, putting the finishing touches on Mikey’s drink. “We know him well,” he looked over at his brother, who smirked as well. “Everyone does.”</p><p>“Ooookay,” Mikey sang, swiping his drink off the overturned trash can the twins had procured for a bar. “Thank you, Fletcher,” he said obligingly, “thank you, Wyatt.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” they said in monotone unison.</p><p>Mikey promised to get the twins their cigarettes as soon as possible, then they said some more sphynx-like cartoon villain shit, and then Gerard found himself walking towards the pool table with his brother.</p><p>“Those guys are fucking cool,” Gerard said, half of a can of beer already sitting in his gut, “they’re like…two cheshire cats. Or Team Rocket.”</p><p>“I know,” Mikey said, wincing as he took a sip from his red cup. "They're total weirdos."</p><p>Gerard could smell the lighter-fluid essence of 151 from behind Mikey (he probably could have smelled it from Jersey), and scrunched up his nose. "Easy with 151, Mikes," he said.</p><p>"I can handle my liquor," Mikey took another swig, "unlike a certain brother of mine."</p><p>"Fuck off," Gerard giggled, drinking more beer as he and Mikey took station at the head of the pool table. Ray was opposite them, Bob and Brian on one side, Kelly, Nat, and the short dude on the other. Gerard looked around for Frank, but didn’t see him anywhere. Resigned, he guessed he was still with the orange haired girl. They were probably laughing and smoking and doing all sorts of other things, things that would make Gerard's cheeks go warm if he thought about them a second longer. </p><p>Gerard let the sour flavor of PBR direct his mind elsewhere. “Mikey,” he said to his brother, “what did Fletcher mean when he said ‘everyone knows’ you?” </p><p>Mikey looked at him over the rim of his cup. “Um…” </p><p>“Your brother’s a slut, dude,” Kelly laughed, wrapping her arms around the short dude’s shoulders, who let out a laugh.</p><p>Gerard narrowed his eyes at Kelly, getting ready to jump into big brother mode — but then everyone started laughing, including Mikey. He watched his brother’s smile and nervous eyes, and started putting the pieces together: <em> the girls at the firepit...always texting someone on his phone...cagey about Alicia…  </em></p><p>“You should’ve told me, Mikey,” Gerard chuckled, “I would’ve brought more condoms.”</p><p>“Hah!” Mikey croaked, his laugh faint and silly. “Like you’re gonna fucking need any of them.”</p><p>“Ooh,” Bob crooned, pale eyebrows raised high. “He called you a virgin, dude.”</p><p>“I lost mine before he did,” Gerard blurted out, a little surprised at himself — but fuck it, he was getting fuzzy around the edges, and Mikey would live — "if you can believe it.”</p><p>“Gerard!” Mikey glared at him.</p><p>"What?! It’s fucking true!” Gerard added, laughing as he wiped his mouth off with the back of his sleeve. There were snickers all around the pool table, and Gerard choked on his beer as the back of Mikey’s hand hit the front of his chest.</p><p>“Shut <em> up</em>, Gee,” he hissed, glaring at Gerard as snickers rolled around the pool table.</p><p>After the jokes about sex and lack thereof circulated, Gerard got the lowdown on everyone. </p><p>Bob and Pete (the short dude with Kelly) were both from Chicago, but hadn’t known each other until they got to camp. Bob had been at Camp Warren for the past four summers after his Aunt Linda (ponytail lady with the strong calves) got hired as Senior unit Director. Up until two years ago, he’d been a senior camper, like Mikey, Frank (who was still nowhere to be seen), Pete, and Kelly. Like the twins, Brian was 21, and after graduating from a local college’s nursing program, he’d started working as camp nurse, a duty he shared with some nice old ladies named Marie and Georgie who’d arrive when the campers did. Pete had found Camp Warren through Kelly — who was from Boston — who’d found Pete on Myspace. The two had been using Camp as a “meet up” spot for the past five years, unbeknownst to their parents. “Now we get <em> paid </em> to sneak around and fuck in the woods,” Kelly had joked as she planted a kiss on Pete’s flushed cheek.</p><p>So yeah, everyone was cool as hell, and Gerard was (what the fuck?) having a good time. His stomach was full of beer, he was feeling wavy and wobbly; and now he was fighting against his hazy vision so he could line up his next shot. </p><p>“You just…hit the fucking,” Gerard slowed, shooting the cue forward, sinking one of his solids into a corner pocket. Cheers all around the table, goofy and happy. “Hit the fucking ball,” he grinned, stepping back from the table as his friends clapped and Mikey’s hand came around the back of his neck. </p><p>Mikey’s glasses were fogged up and the tip of his nose was bright red. “Good fuckin’ work, dude,” he laughed, ruffling Gerard’s hair. </p><p>Gerard leaned into Mikey’s chest, smiling as Brian went for his turn, and promptly fumbled his point. </p><p>Brian plastered himself against the wall behind the table, feigning mortal pain like he’d been shot. “Ah!” He cried as he clutched his chest.</p><p>“Gerard!" Ray beamed, “you’re fucking winning, bro!”</p><p>“I have…no fucking idea how to play this game,” Gerard laughed, covering his hands with his eyes. Even with his eyes covered, his vision was still spinning. He felt like a human Beyblade.</p><p>“Go Gerard!” Bob said.</p><p>Gerard looked up from behind his hands as Bob began chanting, “Go Gerard! Go Gerard! Go Gerard!" </p><p>Mikey picked up the chant first. Then Pete, then Kelly, then Ray, and then Brian, and then the whole fucking room. The chant surpassed the volume of the music, and Gerard stood back in awe. He felt the words spill all over his body, like his skin was blossoming, and his face ached from his ear-to-ear smile. “Whoa,” he said out loud. He felt like a football star, or something.</p><p>“If you make that next shot,” Fletcher called from the other end of the room, turning Gerard’s head, “I will make you a very special drink, free of charge.”</p><p>Gerard grinned at him. “Fuck yeah.”</p><p>When he turned back to the table, it was only him, the green felt of the pool table, and the slender wood nestled in his fingers. He directed all of his neurons towards the muscle in his shoulder. He needed it to be supercharged in order to fucking obliterate Brian’s chances at winning — as well as his own liver.</p><p>He pulled his elbow back, shot the cue forward, and sunk the final solid ball. </p><p>The volume inside the boathouse broke the fucking sound barrier, ringing in Gerard’s ears as his arms shot upwards in victory. Everyone was shouting and slurring, choruses of his name mixing with “oh shit”s and “whoaaaaaa”s and “hell yeah”s from all directions. Bottles and cups clanked together, claps and snaps filled the room, and a moment later, Fletcher’s slender hand was offering him a red cup. Gerard took a sip as everyone else took drinks from theirs. He seethed at the barely orange taste of the beverage and noticed his stomach churn a little. He thanked Fletcher with a hug, and watched as Mikey and Kelly geared up for their round of stripes v.s solids. Gerard was excited to be the cheerer, now that he knew how good it felt to get cheered on.</p><p>After Kelly’s victory, Mikey had disappeared with Alicia. Now, Pete and Kelly were cooped up in a corner playing tonsil hockey, Brian had left to take Nat to the infirmary (she cut her hand open on a broken bottle and didn’t even cry, epic), and Ray and Bob were focused on their game, leaving no one for Gerard to play with. He’d cited a need for fresh air and excused himself.</p><p>Now he was outside with his arms draped over the wrap-around balcony of the boat house, looking down at Lake Quaboag with a menacing eye. </p><p>“Stupid lake,” Gerard said, tapping ashes into it, “try to kill me when I’m eleven…I’ll knock you out, bitch.”</p><p>It really wasn’t the lake’s fault, though. It was a freak accident, which was worse, because that meant he couldn't really blame anyone for it — anyone but the stupid universe. Yeah, it'd been the universe's fault that Gerard’s lifejacket strap got tangled in the sailboat pulley, which led to him panicking, which led to him and his sailing partner (this little douche-nozzle named Mark) losing control of the boat, which led to them drifting towards the leech-infested shores of the fishing dock just past the camp grounds.</p><p>Gerard had clipped off his lifejacket to get away from the tipping boat, and as the boat capsized, the boom pole swung forward and thundered across his abdomen, knocking all the air out of his body as he fell backwards into the lake. The water was cold and dark, and Gerard was disoriented and panicked. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't swim, leeches were sucking on his legs, the boat was looming over him, and he thought he was going to die — but then water rushed around his ears and over his shoulders, sunlight blinded his eyes, air clawed at his lungs, and he went limp as one of the counselors pulled him into their rescue boat.</p><p>No serious injuries had been sustained, save for the bruises on his stomach and his shattered ego. Gerard spent the last week of camp away from the lake; he spoke to no one, and ate meals with an icepack pressed to his stomach. That stuff sucked, but the worst part of it was the leeches. Nothing fills a kid with existential dread quite like watching multiple black squirmy things suck the blood right out of their body.</p><p>“Hm. Maybe that’s why I like vampires so much,” Gerard said aloud, his mouth bitter with the taste of 151. He looked inside his red cup, noticed there was only a little bit of liquid left, and poured it down the hatch. It burned deliciously.</p><p>“You like vampires?” Someone said.</p><p>Gerard looked over his shoulder, clinging to the balcony rail for balance. The voice had belonged to Frank — <em> this dude’s always over my shoulder, </em>he thought — but this time, there was no orange haired girl at his side. “Oh,” Gerard said, hiccuping. “It’s you.”</p><p>Frank laughed; a squeaky, pitchy little laugh that sounded like a broken record. “Yeah, it’s me.” Frank’s sneakers scuffed against the wood as he took the section of balcony next to Gerard’s; close, but still separated by a wooden pillar.</p><p>The balcony was dark; the moonlight was the only thing lighting Frank’s face. His skin was pale in the light, his hair almost as dark as the sky. He had big eyes, Gerard noticed. Almost as big as the moon, if he wanted to think dumbly about it. <em>B</em><em>ut his eyes hold her light better than she can, </em>he thought, blushing.</p><p>“I do like vampires,” Gerard slurred over his romantic internal monologue. He felt his heart bloom as Frank’s lips spread into a smile. “And I was thinking about leeches before,” he added, like Frank had asked.</p><p>“Sweet,” Frank chuckled, leaning over the balcony. </p><p>Gerard leaned out too, and probably made a dumb face, judging by the way Frank looked back at him. “D’you like ‘em?” Gerard asked, hopeful.</p><p>Frank had a playful grin on his face. “What, leeches?” </p><p><em> “No,” </em>Gerard clarified, giggling. “vampires, bro.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “Totally. Dracula rules.”</p><p>“Sweet.” Gerard said, leaning back onto the boat house side of the balcony, rocking back on his heels. </p><p>Frank mimicked him. They laughed at the same time, and Gerard felt silly.</p><p>“I like your hoodie, by the way,” Frank said, pointing at Gerard’s chest.</p><p>Gerard looked down. He’d almost forgotten he was wearing it — but now that he remembered that he was, and that <em> he’d </em>drawn the patch that Frank was pointing at, he beamed. “Thank you,” Gerard grinned, “I drew it.”</p><p>“Really?” Frank exclaimed. He unwrapped his hands from the banister and shuffled over to Gerard, hands outstretched, like he was going to pinch the hoodie between his fingers. “That’s aweso —”</p><p>“Gerard!” Mikey called, peeking his head around the corner. Frank stepped back. </p><p>“We gotta go,” Mikey announced, frantic. “Linda’s on her way down here and she’s gonna fucking kill us!” His wide eyes darted over to Frank. “You too, Frankie. Let’s fucking move, dudes!”</p><p>Frank looked at Gerard before he zoomed away, gone faster than he’d appeared. Gerard heard the thunder of the other counselors’ footsteps, all drunk and giggling as they ran up the wooden staircase. </p><p>“Shit,” Gerard said, feeling his legs jellify as he tried to move them, “Mikey,” he looked up at his brother, “you might have to carry me.”</p><p>Mikey rushed over, and slung Gerard’s arm over his shoulders. “C’mon, man,” he said, heaving his brother up, “let’s dip."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i knowwwwww the frank/gerard moments were small here, but this is only the beginning.....this fic is like, a slow burn that ignites quickly. idk if that makes any sense, but like gerard once said: Trust me.<br/>next chapter will be longer, too. rock n roll</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Um,” Gerard said to Frank, kicking pebbles down the path, “are you nervous?” <br/>“About what?” Frank responded, passing back one of the stones Gerard had inadvertently hit his way. <br/>Gerard’s head was starting to clean up the mess of pages, organizing and tucking them back into their respective books. “The campers,” Gerard replied as he shot another stone at Frank’s foot, this time with better aim. <br/>-----<br/>it's the day after the boathouse party, and the day before the day before campers arrive. feelings and such</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The 7:45am bugle was Hell. </p><p>“Shiiiiiiiit,” Gerard groaned, hands clasped over his face. He felt knives, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing behind his head and eyes and stomach, like his body was attacking itself. Somewhere behind Gerard, yet so very, very, very far away, he heard Mikey Way rustling in his bunk.</p><p>“Fuck,” he heard Mikey say, then a clunk as something fell to the floor. “My phone…” he whined. </p><p>Ray joined in a moment later, only adding a loud moan to the conversation.</p><p>By the time the residents of Cabin 8A made it out of the bath house, Gerard’s knees were aching from having been pressed against the ever-wet concrete. After nearly throwing up a lung, he’d washed his hands like, six hundred times, and now his wrists and fingers were cracking with dryness, burning underneath the heat of the morning sun. But he did feel better, in a not-really sort of way. The nausea had passed, which was great, but now he just felt weird and hollow. If he made it to the infirmary before he died, he’d be alright.</p><p>***</p><p>“Holy shit,” Mikey said. </p><p>“A fucking <em> line?!” </em>Ray groaned. </p><p>Everyone from the boathouse was lined up outside the infirmary, all whines and moans and aching heads. Some of them were sitting down, others leaning on the wall or a friend’s shoulders for support.</p><p>“Zombies,” Mikey observed as they approached the building.</p><p>“No kidding,” Gerard replied.</p><p>The wooden planks of the infirmary ramp croaked as they joined the very back of the line. Mikey let Gerard go in front of him, because he was the best brother ever. Gerard thanked him with a hand-squeeze, and lined up behind Nat.</p><p>“Hey dude,” Gerard greeted her. </p><p>“Hey,” she said. “How you feeling?” </p><p>Nat’s voice was especially raspy, and there was a bandage wrapped around her left palm. Gerard’s hand tingled at the sight of it. “Oh, y’know,” he said, rubbing his palm. “Like a million bucks.”</p><p>Nat nodded and rested her back against the outside wall of the building, crossing one foot over the other. Ahead of her, Gerard could see the backs of Bob, Fletcher, Wyatt, Kelly, Pete, and Alicia’s heads. </p><p>“I hear ya,” she said. </p><p>“Mhm,” Gerard concurred, joining her up on the wall. It felt good to take some of the weight off his feet. From that spot, he could see the other dirt path that led down to the Freshman unit. He thought of Frank, but only for a gentle moment. </p><p>Nat leaned forward a little, looking past Gerard towards the end of the line. Gerard followed her eyes, and smiled as he watched them find Ray. He recognized the look in her eyes, how they glittered and how they lingered on him for just a second too long. She pulled back, and Gerard snapped his eyes back at attention, happy to pretend like he hadn’t seen anything. </p><p>“Did you black out?” Nat asked.</p><p>Gerard rubbed at his face, hearing his eyes grind against his skull. “No, actually,” he answered, “which rules, because that was like, the best night of my life.”</p><p>Nat laughed. “Never been to a party before?”</p><p>“Not like that,” Gerard chuckled, “I don’t get out much.” He was aware of how lame he sounded, but Nat just smiled and nodded like it was no big deal. Her coolness was refreshing.</p><p>“That’ll change,” Nat said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans.</p><p>“I dunno,” Gerard mused. “Probably won’t be able to party as much when campers get here.”</p><p>"Hey!" Bob’s voice called from up the line, “could you guys shut the fuck up? Please?” </p><p>He was scowling at them, and Gerard understood what he’d said hadn’t been a request. Nat and Gerard looked at one another with a surprised expression, and decided it was in their best interests to just save it for the dining hall.</p><p>With a couple NSAIDs and muscle relaxants in everyone’s system, breakfast went over easy. Gerard was standing at the kitchen window now, waiting to hand his table’s dishes to the kitchen staff. Craig had introduced the staff to everyone, but of course Gerard hadn’t remembered any of their names. After the counselor in front of him handed their shit off and peeled away, Gerard approached the window. There was a girl there, thin-browed with black hair tied in two low pigtails. She wore a cream-colored apron with a bunch of stains on it, some of them from food and some of them from paint.</p><p>“I’ll take that,” she said, smiling wide with her gloved hands outstretched. She looked cheery and bright, for someone on the 8:30am shift.</p><p>Gerard handed her the crate of used dishes. “Thank you,” he smiled. She took the crate, her smile fading as soon as she passed it off to the dude hosing down dishes. Gerard frowned. “What’s your name?” He asked her. </p><p>“Lindsey,” she said, looking a little startled.</p><p>Gerard softened. “I’m Gerard,” he replied, smiling.</p><p>Someone’s shoe scuffed behind him, and he realized he was holding up the line. </p><p>“Nice to meet you, Lindsey,” he said, and then looked down the line of waiting, grimacing, caffeine-and-sleep-deprived counselors. “I’m…uh, I gotta go now.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Lindsey laughed. “See you later.”</p><p>“Bye.” Gerard put his hands in his pockets as he shuffled towards the exit. </p><p>As his feet hit the pebbled ground with a polyphonic crunch, he closed the dining hall door gently so that it wouldn’t slam. When he looked ahead, he saw Ray and Nat walking together down the Junior unit path. Gerard watched them disappear down the hill, and decided to take the long way back.</p><p>He walked across the flagpole area, kicking loose stones as the sun warmed his shoulders. They hopped and skipped against other sediments in the dirt, and his brain gave him an image of things on the microscopic level, of all the little mites and ants that lived in those sediments. He imagined them brushing past one another, saying <em> sorry </em> and <em> excuse me </em> and <em> how do you do </em> and <em> hello, it’s nice to see you. </em></p><p>Orientations were always weird for Gerard. They were like, the prequels to the biggest events of his life — and the sequels that followed were always non-sequiturs. High school had been that way, college orientation had been that way, and a part of him worried that this might end be that way, too. </p><p>At SVA, he’d met people through mandatory activities, classroom icebreakers, and floor meetings. Some of those people came to resemble friends: they'd say hi to him in the common room, ask him what he was working on in the studio, and occasionally stop by his room to let him know about a party or whatever. But then school picked up, classes crushed his soul, Daniel broke up with him, and Gerard’s world fell apart. His hand froze over the page when he tried to draw. His brain blacked out when he tried to dream. His heart ached when he tried to feel. His body was a shell without Daniel to fill it; and his mind became a forgotten toy collecting dust inside the attic of his skull. </p><p>With nothing left to hold him to it, Gerard fell off the face of the earth and into a deep sea. He was there for a while, churning along with the ocean’s currents, bumping against abandoned ships and swirling schools of fish. Sometimes spears of sunlight broke through the water’s surface, but they blinded Gerard’s tapetum-backed eyes. He couldn’t make use of the light, so he’d twirl back to the ocean floor and wait for a rescue mission to come. He stayed under the water, floating with the sand and rocks until Mikey came swimming down with a spare oxygen tank. Mikey brought him back to land, and Gerard forgot about the sea.</p><p>Gerard arrived at the intersection of the infirmary and Freshman path, and turned his head.</p><p>Frank was there, walking towards the infirmary. He was alone. </p><p>“Hey!” Gerard called. Frank looked up, unfazed and still in his slow stride. Gerard waved cautiously.</p><p>“Hey, Gerard,” Frank said, standing at the opening of the path just a few feet from where Gerard was stopped. </p><p>“Hi,” Gerard said. Frank’s eyelids were heavy, half closed around his hazel irises. His face looked hollow, like he’d forgotten how to smile and his muscles had atrophied. His hair was wet. He looked small. “I didn’t know you knew my name," Gerard spoke at a low volume. </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank said, his voice flat and affectless. “You’re Mikey’s brother. He talks about you a lot.”</p><p>The moon-like sparkle in Frank’s eyes was gone, and he sounded like he was sleepwalking. Gerard felt his skin crawling, like he’d walked into a spiderweb. Talking to Frank like this felt wrong; like Gerard wasn’t supposed to see him like this.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard nodded, shaking off the spiderweb feeling as he began walking back towards the unit. “I’ll see you later, Frank,” he said as he waved goodbye. </p><p>“Would you make me one of those hoodies?” Frank piped up.</p><p>Gerard turned around. “What?” He said, looking at Frank standing in the path, unbearably small in contrast to the strong, looming trees.</p><p>“The hoodie with the bloody guy on it,” Frank said, pointing to the center of his chest, indicating where Gerard’s patch had been. “Could you make me one?”</p><p>Gerard stared back at him until Frank made a face that told Gerard <em> he </em>was starting to look like the crazy one. “Yeah,” Gerard stammered, his heartbeat quickening. “I can do that.”</p><p>“Sweet,” Frank said, fighting with his face to force a smile. “I’ll see you later, Gerard.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said. “See ya’.”</p><p>Gerard stayed turned Frank’s way long enough to watch him walk up the infirmary steps, and open the screen door. Looking any longer would have been an invasion, Gerard thought. He walked back to the cabin.</p><p>***</p><p>The cabin door opened with a loud creak, and Gerard gawked at the floor. It was a minefield of electric fans, all of which were doing nothing besides making noise and pushing hot air around. Gerard waded through the fans, eyeing Mikey as he looked up from the comic he was reading. Mikey’s eyes widened like he’d been caught with his pants down. </p><p>“I didn’t lose your place,” Mikey started, showing Gerard the piece of scrap paper he’d shoved between the pages of his comic, “I promise I’ll give it ba—”</p><p>“Where’s Ray?” Gerard asked, looking at his empty bunk.</p><p>“He’s with Nat,” Mikey responded, then titled his head sideways. “You don’t care about me taking your comic?”</p><p>“No,” Gerard said, “not right now, at least.” He crossed the cabin floor and ducked under the empty top bunk, squeezing himself into the corner at his brother’s feet. Mikey peered at him from behind his bent knees. Gerard was silent, and Mikey nudged his thigh with his toe, checking to see if Gerard would bite.</p><p>“What’s Frank’s deal?” Gerard bit.</p><p>Mikey put the comic book down, stretched his legs out atop Gerard’s shins, and pushed himself up a little so that his back was flat against the bunk. Sunlight poured in from the screen window behind Mikey, backlighting him in shadows.</p><p>“Well,” Mikey said. His lips formed into a shape, and then stopped. “Um,” he paused, scratching his temple, “how do you mean, exactly?”</p><p>“I just mean, like,” Gerard said, a little exasperated, “is he okay? I just saw him and he seemed really fucked up.”</p><p>“Well, we were all getting really fucked up last night, Gee,” Mikey pointed out.</p><p>“That’s true,” Gerard played along, scratching at his cheek. “But I don’t mean it in that way. He seemed really out of it.”</p><p>“Probably just hungover, bro,” Mikey said, reaching for the comic again. </p><p>“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Gerard said. “Why?”</p><p>“Ughhhh,” Mikey groaned, dropping the comic as his head rolled back on the pillows.</p><p>“I can see that you wanna tell me,” Gerard teased, “it’s gonna eat you up if you don’t.”</p><p>“You’re gonna be a bitch about it though,” Mikey said, tilting his head forward to pout at Gerard. “I know you will.”</p><p>Gerard grinned. “Tell me, fucker!” He pinched Mikey’s knee hard.</p><p>Mikey squealed and squirmed, laughing between gasps of breath. “Gee!” Mikey croaked, “stop!”</p><p>“Tell me!” Gerard giggled. He knew it didn’t hurt, but that it just tickled, really <em> really </em>bad. “Tell me, and I’ll stop!” He said as his brother continued to writhe on the bed, laughing and crying.</p><p>“Fine, fine!” Mikey choked, “I’ll tell you!”</p><p>Gerard released him, and Mikey scrambled back. His chest heaved as he straightened out his glasses and posture, his cheeks going red and his eyes going narrow.</p><p>“You’re such a little bitch, Gerard,” Mikey grumbled.</p><p>“You’re the one who squealed,” Gerard pointed out, “not me.”</p><p>“I squealed ‘cuz you shark-bit me like a motherfucker,” Mikey said, kicking Gerard’s thigh hard enough to make him wince. He gave Gerard a death glare before talking. “Frank and Mia are done. Since like, last night.”</p><p>“Is that the girl? With the, uh,” Gerard made swirling motions around his head, trying to evoke the orange-ness of her hair, “the dyed hair?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey said, knees back at his chest. </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Gerard exhaled, running his hands over his face. He felt his heart break for Frank. “That’s so shitty.”</p><p>“Don’t go like, blabbing to him though, okay?” Mikey added. “He’s not gonna wanna talk about it.”</p><p>Gerard dropped his hands on the bed and stared at Mikey. “Is that what you meant when you said I’d be a bitch about it?” </p><p>Mikey scratched the back of his neck and nodded. “Kind of?” He hesitated, “you and breakups, y’know…” </p><p>Gerard raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck does<em> that </em>mean?” </p><p>“Nothing," Mikey shrugged. "I just know you’re gonna project, is all.”</p><p>“You’re an asshole,” Gerard glared at his smart-ass brother. “I’m not going to fucking intervene, Mikey. I just wanted to know what happened.” </p><p>“They were together, and now they’re not.”</p><p>Mikey’s face was all calm and nonchalant, and Gerard’s hands were starting to itch. “Can you give me a little more fucking info, Mikey?”</p><p>“Since when are you such a gossip slut?” Mikey teased.</p><p>Gerard’s jaw clenched at the cocky smirk on Mikey’s face. “Since I’m going to beat your ass,” he said, only half-joking.</p><p>Mikey rolled his eyes. “They were hooking up for a few months,” he recounted, “but then Mia did some fuck shit, which upset Frank, and now they’re not a thing anymore. It’s not that interesting, Gee.”</p><p>"So why does he look so fucked up, then?” Gerard asked. “Like, if it was casual?”</p><p>Mikey furrowed his brows. “Um…because he has fucking feelings?”</p><p>Gerard groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. “I didn’t mean it like that, Mikey.”</p><p>“I know,” Mikey said. “But like, y’know. Sex is personal. Even if it’s casual.”</p><p>Gerard didn’t know anything about the <em>casual</em> variety, but he knew sex itself was personal. To be reminded of it made his head swim and body ache.</p><p>“But I think Frankie will be okay,” Mikey jumped back in. “He’s usually pretty quick on the turnaround.”</p><p>Just then, Ray came through the door, a little stride in his step.</p><p>“What’s up, fuckers?” He said, dancing across the floor. He collapsed on his bed and looked at the two with his arms behind his head, and a wide smile on his face.</p><p>“Uh oh,” Mikey laughed, and picked up Gerard’s comic again.</p><p>Gerard surveyed the flush of Ray’s cheeks, the rumpled-ness of his hair, and the crooked buckle of his belt. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “Nat?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ray said, his voice going dreamy. “She’s so cool, dude.”</p><p>“She is,” Gerard smiled, beaming at the lovestruck look on Ray’s face. “That’s fucking awesome, Ray. I’m stoked for you.”</p><p>“Here I was, thinking she was into <em> you </em>,” Ray said, gesturing towards Gerard. “Guess not, though.”</p><p>“I thought so too, actually,” Mikey added.</p><p>Gerard felt his cheeks get warm. “Well, she’s not,” he deflected. “She was checking Ray out at the infirmary this morning. Saw it with my own two eyes.”</p><p>“Yeah, I fucking know that now,” Ray laughed. He paused for a moment, just staring up at the bunk above him. “It’s fucking crazy how much can happen in one day, man.”</p><p>“I told you, dude,” Mikey said, eyes still scanning the comic’s pages. “<em>Camp Time </em>. We don’t run on the same schedule as the normal world.”</p><p>“Ain’t that the truth,” Ray agreed. “The hormones and sweat just speed everything up, I swear — I read an article about that once, y’know. Like, it’s science-based. The pheromones make the juices flow faster.”</p><p>“Heh,” Mikey chuckled, “juices…”  </p><p>Gerard snapped his attention to Mikey, and smirked. “Speaking of juices,” he said, “what ended up happening with you and Alicia last night? You disappeared.”</p><p>“None of your guys’ business,” Mikey said. "A gentleman never tells.”</p><p>“According to Kelly,” Gerard laughed, “you’re not very much of a gentleman, Mikey Way.”</p><p>Ray laughed, and mimicked Kelly’s raspy voice: <em> “‘your brother’s a slut, dude.’” </em></p><p>“That was the old me,” Mikey proclaimed.</p><p>“Can you one year ago be considered ‘the old’ you?” Ray said through giggles.</p><p>“Of course it can!” Gerard exclaimed. His face flushed at the bewildered look on Ray’s face, and then he realized he’d taken the question too seriously; so he softened the blow with a smile. The creased in Ray’s face leveled, and Gerard felt like less of a tool.</p><p>“What he said,” Mikey tilted his chin in Gerard’s direction. “Now let me finish my comic, you rascals,” he said with the rue of an old man who just wanted to read his newspaper.</p><p>“That’s <em> my </em>comic,” Gerard said, remembering he could be angry about that if he wanted to. He plucked it out of Mikey’s hands.</p><p>“Hey!” Mikey yelped.</p><p>“Play on your phone,” Gerard commanded, motioning to the blocky thing on his brother’s trunk. He looked down at the comic and smiled. “I’m about to get to the part where —”</p><p>Mikey put his fingers in his ears. “Shut up! Don’t spoil it, asshole!”</p><p>Back in his own bunk, Gerard tried to focus on the narrative (<em>Lucifer gave Dream the keys to Hell, what a shit show </em>) but he couldn’t stop thinking about Frank, and how how sad he’d looked outside of the infirmary. He’d been listless, like a balloon floating towards a storm cloud. Gerard hoped lightning wouldn’t strike him. </p><p>***</p><p>Connor had just called the end of yet another late-afternoon firepit meeting. The purpose of this one had been to hand out the unit’s camper assignments, which Gerard had skimmed and held in his hands now as he and Ray approached the Rec Center just off Freshman Field. </p><p>When Gerard had been a camper, there hadn’t even <em> been </em>a Rec Center. It used to just be the parking lot next to the Art Shed — the place where you’d go to sit and doodle with your sidewalk chalk after you’d just cried your eyes out because you missed your mom so much — but now, there was an actual structure atop that parking lot, neighboring the squat and graffitied Art Shed.</p><p>The Rec Center had wooden bones and a metal exterior. The sliding doors on the sides and front of the building stayed open most times, even during rainstorms, which Ray said was a pretty nice feature because it made you feel like you were outdoors while staying indoors. The roof was metal with plastic cutouts, so Gerard could still feel the bitching heat from the sun. Voices and human clatter mixed with the natural croak and buzz of the surrounding woods. The floor of the hall was dark gray concrete, demarcated with white arcs and lines for basketball, hockey, or whatever. In the corner by the main entrance, there was some random sports equipment (bats, balls, wrestling mats, lacrosse sticks, frisbees), and an assortment of music gear (amplifiers, microphones, a dingy looking keyboard, and wires. So many wires). </p><p>Frank, Bob, and the twins were sitting at a picnic table near the stage at the very back of the place. They were playing a card game, and Frank was smiling down at his hand. Gerard began twisting the camper assignments between his palms as he followed a few paces behind Ray. There was a tingle in the back of his throat, and a little itch on his tongue. He didn’t know what he was so nervous about, but maybe it had something to with the fact that Wyatt and Fletcher were sitting next to one another, and Frank and Bob were on the other side, and it sort of looked like Ray was going to take his spot next to one of the twins, which meant that Gerard would have to publicly and very deliberately choose to sit next to either Frank or Bob, and he didn’t really know Bob that well, but he also didn’t really know <em> Frank </em> that well; and <em> now </em> he was thinking about how Mikey told him not to help Frank, and what the fuck did that even mean by that, and why would Mikey think he’d want to do that, and y’know, Mikey could be a real asshole sometimes and —</p><p>“Yo!” Ray yelled, causing Gerard to tense up and clutch the papers in his hands. </p><p>“Jesus,” he hissed under his breath, trying not to stare daggers into the back of Ray’s head.</p><p>Bob picked his head up first. He wore that signature scowl on his face, the one that made it look like he had just smelled something awful. “Where’s Mikey?” He asked, looking at Ray and Gerard as if Mikey was hiding in the air between them. Wyatt and Fletcher turned their heads, and then Frank peeked out from behind Wyatt’s head. The expressions on their faces echoed Bob’s question.</p><p>“Alicia,” Ray answered. </p><p>Ray was met with a chorus of “oohs”, and one wolf-whistle from Bob. Ray told them to all shut their mouths, and then he jogged up to the table and took his seat next to Wyatt, which left the table looking exactly as unbalanced as Gerard feared it would. Now, there was a weird empty space in front of Ray, right next to Frank.</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>Gerard’s feet had just passed over the three-point line, and he only had a few more steps left before he had to make his choice. He couldn’t fucking ask Bob to move over, could he? That would be weird; Frank would think Gerard hated him, or something. He stared at the table as his mind bounced his choices back and forth in his skull, like some twisted, anxious game of tennis. He kept his face in what he hoped was a neutral position, and went with the option fate had bestowed upon him.</p><p>He didn’t say a word as he took his seat next to Frank. </p><p>“…I don’t wanna say too much more,” Ray was boasting, “but I think she enjoyed herself.”</p><p>“Ooh,” Wyatt said, eyebrows raised. “Did you let her <em> ride the bull </em>, Mr. Toro?”</p><p>“Dunno,” Ray said, smirking at Wyatt. “But can you <em> cut it out, </em>Mr. Shears?”</p><p>“Excellent comeback. Tens across the board,” lauded Wyatt, returning to his cards a moment later.</p><p>Fletcher put a card down. “Go fish,” he said to Bob.</p><p>“Motherfucker!” Bob grumbled, his face turning red as he reached into the center deck for what must have been the umpteenth time, because his hand was fucking full. </p><p>Frank hadn’t said anything yet, but there was more color to his face than there’d been in the morning, and Gerard saw life in the curl of his lips. Gerard smiled too as he ran his eyes down Frank’s face, stopping just under his pierced ear. There was a mark there, longer than it was wide, and more red than it was purple. </p><p>“Who gave you that, Iero?” Ray asked, pointing at the thing Gerard had still thought was a birthmark.</p><p>Frank grinned from behind his cards. Gerard saw a flush of deep red creep across his cheeks. “Nobody,” he said, a little song in his voice. </p><p><em> Yeah, </em> Gerard thought, hearing Mikey’s voice in his head, <em> he’s definitely quick on the turnaround.  </em></p><p>“Bullshit,” Wyatt mouthed.</p><p>Fletcher smirked. “Must have been a ghost.”</p><p>“Yeah, a real horny one,” said Bob, a little less red now that he’d finally gotten a match from Wyatt. “Y’know,” Bob went on, “I never liked Mia anyway, dude. She was kinda mean to you.”</p><p>Frank bit the inside of his cheek and looked away from the cards in the center of the table. His eyes landed on Gerard’s hands.</p><p>“Oh,” Frank smiled, putting his cards down to point at the rolled-up papers Gerard held. “You got your camper assignments.” </p><p>Frank’s smile seemed forced, but it made Gerard’s heart twitch anyway. “Yeah,” Gerard exhaled, unravelling the camper sheets. </p><p>Frank leaned in to get a closer look, dipping his head under Gerard’s chin. The proximity was making Gerard’s skin buzz; his face warmed as Frank took his lower lip between his teeth and scanned the pages. </p><p>“Oh shit!” Frank exclaimed, pointing at one of the kids on the page. </p><p>Gerard followed his finger. The kid was Dante Nolan, age eleven. He had messy black hair, summer-tanned skin, and a gap between his two front teeth. </p><p>“Dante,” Frank cooed, pulling away to look at Gerard with those heavy-lidded, big hazel eyes of his. Gerard smiled, and Frank clasped his free hand over his heart and pouted in a sweet way, head tilted to the side. </p><p>“Who’s Dante?” Gerard asked, scratching the itch in his cheek.</p><p>“My little cousin,” Frank said sweetly, dropping his hands in his lap.</p><p><em> No pressure, </em>Gerard thought.</p><p>“He’s so sweet, dude,” Frank went on, “he’s just, like, a really good kid, y'know? He’s into Marvel and shit like that.”</p><p>Gerard felt a pang in his chest. “Marvel…kid’s got good taste,” he said, looking at Dante’s picture again. He couldn’t really see any major family resemblance between him and Frank, aside from the dark hair — but Dante’s mom had indeed written a note about Frank being the kid’s cousin. Maybe that’d actually make things easier, Gerard thought.</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank sighed, happy. “His favorite dude is Iron Man. Reminds him of his dad, my Uncle Martin — cuz he has a pacemaker,” Frank pointed to his chest, “and Dante thinks the glowing thing in Iron Man’s chest is like, sorta the same thing.” </p><p>Gerard felt honored that Frank had decided to share that with him. He sat up a little straighter, and tucked his hair behind his ear. “That’s really cute,” he smiled, looking at Frank’s lovestruck and sappy face. It was hard not to find it sweet, how much the guy loved his little cousin. </p><p>“Man,” Frank sighed, turning his attention back to his cards. “I’m so glad he’s with you guys, and not some randos.” </p><p>Gerard watched Frank shuffle his cards. He noticed the agility of his hands, how his movements were measured and considered, how he concentrated with the tip of his tongue stuck out from the press of his lips; his lips that were making Gerard’s chest feel hot. </p><p>Quickly, he looked back at Frank’s hands and noticed his bitten nails and the remnants of black polish stuck in their crevices. There were calluses on his fingertips, and a tattoo around his wrist that read <em> I wish I were a ghost. </em>Gerard wanted to ask what it meant, but thought the answer might be too personal. </p><p>“I’m gonna go get some water,” Gerard announced, palms flat on the table as he hoisted himself upwards. The Rec Center had started to feel more like the Rec Sauna, and he’d left his water bottle back at the cabin. The nearest fountain was at the Art Shed, a matter of yards away from the open side-door of the Rec Center. Gerard could see that its metal spout was getting cooked in the summer sun. It would burn his lips, should they touch it. </p><p>“We should probably get going anyway, right guys?” Frank said.</p><p>“Probably,” Ray said, checking his wristwatch. “Almost dinner time.”</p><p>“It’s 5:30 already?” Bob groaned.</p><p>“Yep,” Ray confirmed, getting up from the table.</p><p>“I fucking hate eating dinner this early, man,” Bob shook his head as he stood, “fucks with my rhythm.” </p><p>Bob tossed his cards back into the center deck, and so did everyone else. Wyatt stacked them up, and tapped the deck against the table. Gerard started moving again, making his exit towards the main entryway. Behind him, he heard the scuffle of sneakers on the concrete and huffs as the dudes rose from the picnic table.</p><p>“Hey!” Frank called, turning Gerard around. </p><p>Frank was jogging across the makeshift basketball court, the black mesh fabric of his gym shorts swishing back and forth as his legs crossed over the halfway line. Gerard hadn’t noticed it before, but he was wearing a Black Flag shirt (the one with Gerard’s favorite album on it, <em> My War) </em> which made him smile.</p><p>“Wait up, man,” Frank laughed, the swing of his arms and legs slowing as he pulled up next to Gerard. </p><p>“I’m not going anywhere without you guys,” Gerard said, looking the other dudes first and then at Frank. He noticed that Frank’s tattoos were sparse and spread out on his body in a way that left them looking unfinished, unattended to. Lonely, even. </p><p>“I’m nowhere near brave enough to show up to flagpole by myself,” Gerard laughed.</p><p>“Fucking amen to that,” Frank exhaled, looking up at Gerard as he scratched at his lip. “Four years here, and I still can’t do it.”</p><p>Gerard chuckled in agreement. “Nice shirt, by the way.” He pointed at Frank’s chest.</p><p>“Oh,” Frank looked down, like he’d forgotten he was wearing a shirt at all. When he looked back up, he was grinning. “Thanks, dude.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Gerard said. He put his hands in his pockets and smiled.</p><p>***</p><p>On their way out from the Rec Center, they’d passed by the Main Office to stop and exchange pleasantries with Craig and his old dog, Bonnet. Frank had held the fully grown red labrador in his arms like she was only a baby, grinning and laughing as she licked and slobbered all over his face. Gerard had smiled the whole time, Frank’s giggles and smiles making him feel dizzy like a whirlpool with butterflies stuck in it.</p><p>Frank had wiped Bonnet’s drool off his cheeks a little while ago, and now they were a ways down the dirt road that cut through the whole camp. </p><p>“…so we’re going with elves and orcs this year,” Wyatt was saying to Ray, just a few paces behind Gerard and Frank. “We’ve got this great plot worked out,” Wyatt went on, “I think the kids are going to love it.” </p><p>Fletcher sighed. “I still think we should have done pirates. There’s more costume potential.”</p><p>Gerard turned to Frank. “What are they talking about?” He asked, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the twins.</p><p>“LARPing,” Frank chuckled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “They’ve been leading it for the past two years.” </p><p>“Wait,” Gerard grinned. The sparkle was back in Frank’s eye, and that made Gerard so happy he could burst. “There’s fucking LARPing at camp now?” He asked.</p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck </em>yeah there is,” Frank beamed, “the kids love it. Counselors do, too.”</p><p>“Do you do it?” Gerard wanted to know.</p><p>“When they can work us into the plot, hell yeah,” Frank grinned up at him. He moved that one curl of black hair behind his ear. “It’s just like, a more socially acceptable version of playing pretend, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah. It totally is,” Gerard said. He started thinking about the campers and counselors running around in fantastic costumes made of cardboard and construction paper, held together only by staples and glue and craft lanyard. “It’s exactly like that,” he reiterated, “I hope the Art Shed has enough supplies for everyone.”</p><p>
  <em> Everyone. </em>
</p><p>His blood ran cold.</p><p>
  <em> …Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>By tomorrow afternoon, cars and campers and caregivers and all the things that came with them would be spilled across the camp like ants to honey. Gerard saw his brain like a library with all the shelves knocked over, loose pages scattered across the floor. Every page detailed a different catastrophe, a different Worst Possible Outcome. He could feel his mind running away from him, escaping his embrace hand in hand with disaster.</p><p>He focused on the pebbles below his feet: how they rolled under his shoes, how they clinked together.</p><p>“Um,” Gerard said to Frank, kicking pebbles down the path, “are you nervous?” </p><p>“About what?” Frank responded, passing back one of the stones Gerard had inadvertently hit his way. </p><p>“The campers,” Gerard replied as he shot another stone at Frank’s foot, this time with better aim. </p><p>“Nah.” Frank smirked and kicked the rock a little harder, trying to pass it back to Gerard. He overshot, and then they watched the stone disappear into the brushy foothill to their right. </p><p>“Oops,” Frank said, looking at Gerard with a guilty grin.</p><p>Gerard mustered a laugh and expected Frank to do the same, but he didn’t. Instead, Frank stared at him. Gerard felt himself being opened up; searched through — like Frank was digging through those stacks in his brain — and for a second, it felt like it was just the two of them. The chatter of friends was far behind, the whoosh of the wind through trees was a whisper, and the critch-crunch of their feet on the dirt was nothing but a hush. </p><p>Frank’s investigation face faded to a more sincere expression. “You’re nervous, though.” </p><p>“Yes,” Gerard confessed, his voice a little small. He’d been found out, but he didn’t feel like he was in trouble — Frank’s face was too sweet to indicate trouble. “It’s kind of intimidating,” he said, watching as Frank took his words in, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line, his well-manicured brows furrowed. Gerard sighed, “it’s just a really big responsibility.”</p><p>Frank nodded. “It’s scary for sure. But that’s why you have an entire camp of people around." His eyes brightened as his lips broke into a kind smile. “We’re all here to help you.”</p><p>Gerard let those words spill like ink across the pages of his head, and watched those stupid books get rewritten for the fourteen-hundredth time: Mikey and Ray would be in the cabin, Nat and Kelly would be in the unit, and everyone else was just a quick sprint or text away. Gerard knew Brian, he knew Craig, he knew the unit directors, he even knew Lindsey from the kitchen — so <em> yeah, </em> he thought, <em> maybe it will all be okay </em>.</p><p>“Thank you,” Gerard said a moment later, noticing the calm in his own voice. “That actually kinda made me feel better.” </p><p>“You’re welcome, dude. Sometimes you just need a reminder, y’know?” Frank said. “I know it’s a lot, but you’ll be okay.”</p><p>Gerard nodded and then looked down at their feet on the path; at his own scuffed up Converse walking in tandem with Frank’s fucked up Vans. It was funny, he thought, that Mikey had given him this whole talk about not helping Frank, and now here Frank was, helping him. </p><p>“I’m here to help you, too,” Gerard said.</p><p>Frank smiled. “Hell yeah, you are.”</p><p>***</p><p>“So how’s Frank doing?” Mikey said under the din of the mess hall, his cheeks full of mushy string beans and dry roast pork.</p><p>“Fi— ah, <em> fuck me, </em>” Gerard grunted, using a concerning amount of muscle strength to saw through his pork chop — the stupid dining hall knives were so dull they probably couldn’t even cut through the fucking mashed potatoes — and once his vigorous movements began to shake the table, he gave up and dropped the utensils. </p><p>The clattering sound grabbed Ray’s attention away from Nat for a millisecond. He looked over his shoulder, determined Gerard wasn’t in mortal danger, and then turned back to Nat, gazing happily into her eyes while she talked about whatever.</p><p>“Fine,” Gerard huffed, brushing his hair out of his flushed face, “he seems to be doing fine.” Gerard folded his hands in his lap, and leaned forward to whisper to Mikey. “Got a hickey on his jaw,” he reported, pushing down the feelings welling up inside him, “right next to his ear.” </p><p>Mikey shook his head, and forked another piece of pork into his mouth. Gerard wondered how the fuck Mikey could eat that shit, how’d he even cut through the meat in the first place. The piece on his own plate had been as solid as a brick with a rock shoved inside. </p><p>Mikey swallowed with ease. “Did he say who it was from?” He asked.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Gerard chuckled, reaching for his water glass. “Someone named <em> Nobody.” </em> </p><p>Mikey laughed. “Sounds about right.”</p><p>Gerard snickered and took a sip from his water, and looked down the hall towards the Freshman unit tables. Frank was a few seats over from his usual spot, chatting with the unit director. Mia was sitting across from where Frank usually sat. Her head was turned away from Gerard, pointed in Frank’s direction. She had her elbows up on the table, hands clasped together near her ear. The sleeves of her hoodie were pulled up over her fists, and she was picking at them.</p><p>Gerard slanted his lips and looked away. He felt bad for her, but then he remembered what Bob had said at the Rec Center; and how Frank had bit the inside of his cheek right before changing the subject. Whatever, though. It wasn’t any of his business.</p><p>“We’re getting Frank’s cousin in our bunk,” Gerard said, switching gears.</p><p>Mikey smiled. “I know, dude! Dante, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. “Frank said he’s into comics. Gonna be a piece of cake for us.”</p><p>“Did he tell you about the Iron Man thing?” Mikey asked, eyes alight.</p><p>Gerard had sort of thought Frank had shared that with him and<em> only him </em>, but now he was realizing how stupid that was. They didn’t know each other; they had no secrets yet. He could have gotten bitter about that, but if Frank was sharing with him the stuff he shared with Mikey, it meant they were friends, and friends were dope — and yeah, maybe he had a little crush on Frank, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. </p><p>Gerard smiled. “He did tell me that. Isn’t that fucking adorable?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey said sweetly, looking over Gerard’s shoulder.</p><p>Gerard sneaked a peek over his shoulder, and saw Alicia at the Senior unit table, waving her fingers at Mikey. When Gerard turned back around, Mikey was waving back, his movements strained and small, his lips tight and face flushed pink. He’d never seen his little brother like this.</p><p>“You<em> like </em> her,” Gerard announced.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey sighed, long and hard, still looking over Gerard’s shoulder. His eyes might as well have had little hearts in them.</p><p>“You <em> like-like </em>her, Mikey Way,” Gerard grinned, playfully kicking Mikey’s foot under the table. He chuckled when Mikey grimaced at him.</p><p>“Ow, asshole,” Mikey said, trance broken. “Yeah,” he said, back in Gerard-and-Mikey world, “I like her a lot. It’s kind of scary, actually.”</p><p>“Been there,” Gerard laughed, feeling something heavy settle in his chest.</p><p>“You ever talk to, um...?” Mikey asked, his lips going tight at the end of his question.</p><p>“No,” Gerard answered, taking another sip of water and swallowing as he watched Mikey’s face fall. He hadn’t talked to Daniel since their breakup, though he’d come close a few times. Every time he almost reached for the phone, something in the back of his head would scream and tell him to put the damn thing down, and then his heart would start racing and he’d feel like he was about to throw up. Gerard rested his cheek on his fist and took another sip of water.</p><p>Mikey’s shoulders caved in as he slumped against his chair. “Shit,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, Gee. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Gerard shrugged. “I was the one who brought it up.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard echoed.</p><p>***</p><p>After dinner, Gerard had thought maybe there’d be another party, but instead, everyone had peeled off to go do their own thing. Mikey, Ray, and Kelly had disappeared with Alicia, Nat, and Pete sometime after dessert, Bob couldn’t hang out because he had to help Linda with paperwork, the twins were too hungover to party, and Frank slipped out the backdoor of the dining hall to go do God knows what/who. Gerard had stayed behind to help clean up the Junior table, which had at least earned him some brownie points with Connor and the other administrative staff. It couldn't hurt to be on their good side, but honestly, he'd have been okay with getting yelled at by Linda if it meant another boathouse night.</p><p>Gerard walked out of the dining hall and took a step towards the multi-purpose (laundry/bathroom/hookup spot/canteen) building next door, thinking about how he could swipe a snack from the canteen if he was stealthy enough. There was a sound from somewhere above or maybe just around him; sort of like the creak of a tree branch, or the snap of a screen against a window frame. He turned his eyes up to the darkness above, his mouth pulled into a curious half-snarl as he looked at its vastness. The indigo sky was peppered with bright white stars; the air around him warm and so, so soft, passing through the thin cotton of his old t-shirt with ease. </p><p>“Nice,” he said aloud, his voice wistful.</p><p>From somewhere nearby, he heard “it is, isn’t it?”, and then the crunch of flat shoes on gravel.</p><p>Gerard looked over his shoulder to see Lindsey, the kitchen-staffer with the black pigtails, staring up at the sky in the same way he’d been. The lights from the still-busy kitchen behind her showed that she wasn’t wearing her stained apron and work shoes anymore; now she was wearing plain black jeans, a multicolored knit sweater with a ton of pins on it, and Converse. There was a messenger bag strapped across her body, and she was smiling. She looked like a friend. Maybe she was a friend. <em> Could be </em>a friend.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, watching as she pulled out a pack of smokes from her back pocket. His fingers itched for one, and his face must have been telling, because Lindsey was offering him one.</p><p>“You want one?” Lindsey asked, the unlit cigarette between her lips bouncing up and down as she spoke.</p><p>“Yes, please,” he chuckled, jogging over to meet her. </p><p>They leaned up against the dining hall’s outside wall and lit their cigarettes with Lindsey’s bright blue lighter. They took a few quiet drags, listening to the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and the buzz of the surrounding woods. Lindsey spoke first.</p><p>“The pork,” she said through a smokey exhale, and then rolled her gaze towards his. “I know. Sorry about that.”</p><p>Gerard felt his insides turn over like a body rolling in its grave. “No!” He placated, his voice rushing out of his throat, a nervous smile on his face, “I just wasn’t hungry —”</p><p>“Relax,” Lindsey laughed, cheeks hollowing as she took another drag. “I didn’t make it.”</p><p>The words settled on him like a heavy blanket. “Oh,” he exhaled. Lindsey was the dishwasher, not the chef. He guessed she’d seen a lot of full plates that night. “Yeah,” Gerard went on, easier now. “My brother somehow managed to eat his, but my piece was like a fucking brick.”</p><p>“Mine was drier than a motherfucker,” she concurred, shaking her head. “It’s such a waste, man. I keep telling Roberta that pork’s too lean for the slow cooker, y’know, that it’ll overcook in like, the blink of an eye,” she waved her hand and cigarette, smoke and loose ashes spilling in the air, “but I guess deliciousness is not her main priority. It’s hard to cook for that many people.”</p><p>If it was hard to cook for fifty-something staff, he couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to cook for the entire camp. “Only gonna get harder,” he said as he tapped his cigarette, “for the counselors, too.” He watched the ashes fall to the ground, landing on his Converse like snowflakes.</p><p>“Well, aren’t you just a ball of sunshine?” Lindsey chuckled.</p><p>Gerard looked up from his toes, catching her wry grin. He scratched his nose and smiled. “That was my nickname in high school, actually.”</p><p>“You and me both,” Lindsey raised her eyebrows and said nothing more as she tossed her dwindled cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her foot. The pebbles rolled against one another with a pleasant click-clack sound, and the smoke cleared.</p><p>Gerard looked at the filter between his fingers, and did the same. “I was gonna break into the canteen for a snack,” he said, tilting his chin at the building in front of them. “You wanna join me?”</p><p>“Sure,” Lindsey shrugged, smiling as she swung her messenger bag around her front. </p><p>Gerard smiled.</p><p>“But I’m not going to fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”</p><p>Gerard’s head nearly blew right off his shoulders, and then he sort of wished it had, because he could only guess what sort of twisted expression he was making now. “I’m not after that at all!” He exclaimed. He couldn’t get the fucking words out fast enough, but he had to be careful about what he said, just in case she was a raging homophobe. “I — fuck, dude,” he crumbled, running his hands through his hair, trying to calm the racing of his heart. He was looking anywhere but her face now, trying to find a way to say it without saying it. He took a deep breath. There was <em> always </em> a way to say it without saying it. “I’m not that kind of guy,” was what he settled on.</p><p>“Good!” Lindsey chirped, springing off the wall. </p><p>Gerard followed suit, though his pace was more sluggish than springy. </p><p>Lindsey pivoted on her heels, and began walking backwards towards the canteen building, still smiling at him. His slow steps were measured, and a little too staccato in comparison to her free stride. He felt like an asshole all around: about the food, about his miserable disposition, about Lindsey thinking he was trying to coerce her into a hookup. God, what a fucking day.</p><p>The snap of the canteen building’s screen door against its outside wall wrung him out of his spell. Lindsey looked over her shoulder at him, that same half-smirk still tugging at her lip. </p><p>“‘Cuz I don’t like <em> ‘that kind of guy’ </em>very much,” she said. She was blocking the doorway, guarding the canteen like the kingdom it was. “And neither does my girlfriend.”</p><p>Gerard froze, and then caught himself. He couldn’t act too surprised, because then he’d look like a dick, and Lindsey was searching his face now, looking for a reaction; testing him, maybe even prodding him. Lindsey kind of looked like she knew how to fight, and Gerard wasn’t trying to do any of that. <em> You could just tell her, </em> the little voice in his head said, <em> she’s gay, you’re gay, so fucking whatever, right? Kumbaya, and all that shit </em> — but he didn’t feel like pouring his soul out to a stranger the night before the most stressful day of his life, and he was far too hungry to properly navigate this particular minefield of an interaction. <em> Save the heart-to-heart for later. </em></p><p>“Look,” he sighed, palms up in defense. “All I want is some fruit gummies and a granola bar, okay?”</p><p>Lindsey scanned him up and down. “Okay,” she said after a moment. She side-stepped into the building, extending her arm like the doorman to a fancy hotel. “You shall pass,” she said, like Gandalf.</p><p>Gerard stepped into the building. “You’re a dork,” he grinned.</p><p>“Takes one to know one,” Lindsey said, already walking towards the canteen.</p><p>Gerard scoffed, following behind her. “What is this, middle school?”</p><p>“Dunno,” she said using her staff keys to unlock the canteen. As the lock snapped open, she looked over her shoulder at him. “But your hair seems to think it is.”</p><p>Gerard laughed. “We have, like, the same hair, dude,” he said, gesturing to her shoulder-length black hair, then to his own. “You wanna talk about middle school? You’re the one with bangs and pigtails.”</p><p>Lindsey’s mouth fell open in feigned offense. “How dare you,” she said as she swung the canteen door open to reveal a treasure trove of edible delights and delicacies: boxes of candies, potato chips, cheese flavored snacks, sugary soda.</p><p>They laughed and crept into the room together, floorboards creaking underneath their feet as they reached for the boxes.</p><p>***</p><p>By the time Mikey returned to the cabin, Gerard had organized his canteen score three times (first by color, then by type, then by preference), devoured two bags of Cheetos, ingested half a pack of Twizzlers, and crushed two cans of Diet Coke. Mikey had joked about how the both of them could use some extra meat on their bones, and swiped the rest of the Twizzlers for himself. </p><p>Ray came in a little while later, looking more put together than Mikey had, but still with a little more swagger in his step. Gerard offered Ray one of his many bags of Sunchips, but he declined. Ray then asked where Gerard had gotten all of the snacks from anyway, and Gerard told the truth (leaving out the bit about Lindsey having a girlfriend, and his own internal panic) which prompted Ray to wiggle his eyebrows and say “yeah,<em> sure </em>” when Gerard asserted that it “wasn’t like that”, that Lindsey was “just a friend” — Gerard decided not to fight it; it was best to let Ray think what he wanted to think.</p><p>It was somewhere around 2a.m, maybe closer to three now. Gerard and Mikey were sitting on the floor of the cabin with their legs outstretched, Mikey’s back against Gerard’s chest, listening as Ray softly plucked at the strings of his guitar. Gerard’s eyes were closed, his mind focused on Ray’s sweet minor chords; how they mixed with his and Mikey’s slow breathing, the hush of life outside, and the whirr of the electric fans on the floor around them. Mikey had his hands clasped over Gerard’s wrists and his head lolled to the side, resting on Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard was swaying back and forth to Ray’s tunes, gently rocking Mikey with him. </p><p>Gerard was aware that this was the last night it’d be just the three of them; the last night of no campers, no serious business, no real work needing to get done. He was just getting used to it being <em> this </em> way, and tomorrow (it already <em> was </em> tomorrow), it’d change again, and by the time he got used to <em> that, </em>something would change again and the cycle would start over. </p><p>On a deeper level, he knew that was like, always how shit was, how <em> life </em>was or whatever, but that didn’t make it suck any less.</p><p><em> “You’ll be okay”, </em> Frank’s voice said in his head. Gerard felt a blush creep across his cheeks as he recalled the smile that had gone along with those words, the one that made him believe maybe Frank was right — could <em> be </em> right. He remembered how Frank had looked that day, wearing his dumb basketball shorts, his cool t-shirt, his messed up sneakers; those lonely tattoos, his stupid haircut, his ruined nail polish, his <em> laugh </em>… </p><p>“I’m going to bed,” Gerard said aloud, his heart racing. He unraveled himself from Mikey, and looked over at Ray, who nodded in acknowledgement.</p><p>Ray rested his guitar against the wall. “Me too,” he said, cracking a smile. “Though I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll actually get.”</p><p>“Same, dude,” Gerard said, rubbing his face with his palms.</p><p>Mikey scooted forward and got out of his brother’s embrace. He looked over his shoulder at Gerard, his chin tilted downward, his gaze skeptical over his eyeglasses. “You okay?” He asked in a private voice, soft enough so only the two of them could hear it.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said, and it was mostly true. This Frank Feeling was definitely going to eat him alive, but maybe not if he just ignored it and focused on different things. There would be plenty of things to focus on come tomorrow.</p><p>Gerard gave Mikey a placating smile. “It’s all good, Mikes,” he whispered.</p><p>Mikey squinted and gave him one of those<em> I-don’t-believe-you </em> looks. Gerard raised his eyebrows and returned it with a <em> well-you-really-should </em> look. Mikey got the message and clambered to his feet, giving Gerard a head-pat goodnight before shuffling over to his bunk. </p><p>A few moments later, the lights were out, everyone was in bed. Now it was just Gerard and his brain full of thoughts. He stared at the bunk above, cataloguing the color variations in the strand board until he fell asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for the kudos, comments, and hits! yesterday was a weird day, so i didn't get around to posting this chapter, but here we are now!! the next chapter will be up sooner rather than later. rock n roll</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>it's the first night/day of camp with campers. gerard learns a little more about himself, and about frank.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all for reading/leaving kudos/commenting. this work is really special to me, and i appreciate being able to share it with you all. next chapter will be up soon. <br/>enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was no way to capture the pandemonium of it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard imagined that, from above, the camp probably looked like a fucking battlefield, overrun with people, stuff, and gear. Yeah, a fucking battlefield — except most of the soldiers were under six feet tall, crying their eyes out, and holding onto their parent’s legs and waists, begging to not be left behind. The image had reminded Gerard very much of himself, but he couldn't ruminate for very long because the trunk he was huffing and puffing into the cabin was making his arms and brain feel like a pile of loose noodles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed past Mikey (who was helping some parents set up their kid’s bed) and resisted the urge to curse under his breath as he dropped the massive trunk opposite his own. It belonged to the kid who’d claimed the bunk above him, this brown-haired, bespectacled, super scrawny kid named Ben — and now Ben’s Dad was speaking a mile a minute, reminding Gerard that Ben needed to go to the infirmary every night for his “special eyedrops”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The kind that make it so you have to keep your glasses on, or else everything looks like a giant blob?” Mikey jumped in, taking his hands away from the bed sheet he’d just finished tucking in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s Dad turned away from Gerard to look at Mikey, but Gerard could still see the smile on his face as he watched Mikey push his own glasses up his nose. “Yes,” Ben’s Dad huffed with relief, hands falling at his sides, “those exactly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to get them, too,” Mikey said, hands in his pockets. “Every night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s true,” Gerard added, his voice soft as he looked at his brother. “I’d go with him, too. Every night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s Dad’s face brightened up. “Oh!” He exclaimed, looking at Gerard, then back to Mikey, then back to Gerard. “You two are brothers! I see it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s older,” Mikey laughed, pointing at Gerard. “If you can believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ben’s older brother is here, too,” Ben’s Dad smiled, “he’s up in the Senior unit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember that from his file,” Gerard said, now leaning against the bunk. “Joseph, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ben’s Dad smiled, worrying his hands in front of his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiled back, and watched as Ben’s Dad’s shoulders dropped. He exhaled deeply, his hands seemed to shake a little less, and the wrinkles and creases on his face smoothed out, leaving him looking calmer and about fifteen years younger. His smile wavered; it looked like he wanted to say something (maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>please take care of my son</span>
  </em>
  <span>) but just didn’t know how, or if he was allowed to. Gerard just gave him a nod, and Ben’s Dad smiled in understanding.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>Cabin 8A was mostly in full attendance. There were six boys so far; Ben (the one with glasses), Julian (the tall one), Nick (the red head), Marco (the goofy one), Dylan (the athletic one), and Alex (the bookish one). </span>
  <span>Nick, Marco, and Dylan were with Ray, going for their swim tests down at the lake; meanwhile, Ben, Julian, and Alex were at the infirmary with Mikey, getting their mandatory lice checks and medical information in order. That left Gerard all alone to wait for the last camper, Dante (Frank’s little cousin) to arrive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard was sitting on the stoop of 8A, bouncing his leg so hard against the steps that the handrail next to him was shaking. He’d tried to push the responsibility onto Mikey, but Mikey had been pretty set on going to the infirmary because he thought Ben would appreciate being accompanied by a fellow member of the blind-as-shit-without-my-glasses community, and there was no way Gerard was doing Ray’s thing and going to the lake — so tough titty, he’d been shafted to the welcome committee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parents’ cars were slowly pulling away from the unit, and the air was beginning to cool. The surrounding area felt eerie and quiet in contrast to the previous hours’ chaos; the unit was more full than ever, yet it felt hollow. It was like the place had gone through a caffeine crash, or a comedown from a really great concert. Things were softer, more tangible. Gerard could more easily smell and appreciate the freshness of the air, the musk of the earth, the tickle of the breeze. He heard more sounds, like the brush of wind through leaves, the creak of wooden planks, the crunch of shoes on dirt, the call of his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He perked his head up to find Frank walking towards him, his stupid smile shining brighter than the yellow staff shirt he was wearing. He was still sporting those same dorky basketball shorts and busted sneakers, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” Frank called again, waving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sat up a little straighter. “Hey, Frank,” he smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hopped up the stairs and plopped down on the step below Gerard. “Hey. They’re running a little late,” he announced. He tilted his head back and gazed at Gerard, bracing his elbows on the step Gerard’s feet were on. “Just got off the phone with my aunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” Gerard said, looking down at Frank’s smiling face. He helplessly checked his jaw again, and saw that same reddish lovebite there, a little more faded than it had been yesterday. There was another one, he noticed, a more purple-ish one, peeking out at him from the rim of Frank’s shirt collar. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fresh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he surmised. Dismayed, he turned his head down to his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Frank went on. “They'll be here soon. Man, I can't wait to see the kid...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard realized then that Frank would be sticking around for their arrival, which he appreciated with a silent nod; though his stomach was turning. Talking about normal stuff always helped, though. </span>
  <span>“How’s your cabin, dude?” Gerard asked. “Are you and Pete all done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “The kids are so cute, man. Some of them cried, which sucks, but me and Pete turned that crying into laughter real quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard laughed. “Oh yeah? How’d you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just by being our dumbass selves, that’s all…y’know, fart jokes and such,” he grinned, scratching the skin above his lip with his blackened nails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wondered what parents thought of a dude with painted nails and piercings taking care of their kids, but thought it would be weird to ask — so instead he asked Frank why he scratched his upper lip so much. He’d seen him do it a bunch now, and it seemed like a thing. Gerard was curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you’re watching me now?” Frank quipped, and before Gerard could stutter out any profuse protestation, Frank was explaining himself. “I’m just jonesing, man,” Frank said, and then mimed smoking a cigarette: he held an invisible thing between his two fingers and pursed his lips, eyelids fluttering closed as he took one inhale. On his exhale, his mock-tense features melted into loose docility. He flicked his eyes back open, and grinned up at Gerard. “Need a smoke,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard had melted a little too, watching Frank do that. He’d looked fucking obscene. “Oh shit,” Gerard said, maintaining his cool. “We’re gonna have to be sneaky about that now, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, dude,” Frank sighed, dropping his hands in his lap. “Sucks. But we’re already sneaky about a lot, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We?” Gerard laughed, scratching his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look!” Frank chirped, pointing at him with a goofy grin on his face. “There’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> your</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing. The cheek-scratch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Gerard squeaked, scrunching all his features up and clasping his hand over his cheek, cringing as he felt it flush. “I don’t…I don’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes you fucking do,” Frank teased, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against the step. “I’ve seen you do it like, three times now…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away at one of the neighboring cabins.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard said, bringing his hand down from his face. He crossed his arms over the tops of his folded knees and grinned. Frank had given himself away, the idiot, and now he was the one looking back at Gerard with wide eyes. “Look who’s watching who now,” Gerard chided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank batted his lashes. “Guilty as charged, sir,” he said, in a bashful voice, like he was a southern belle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard had no fucking idea what to say to that, and he couldn’t figure out how he felt about it either — somewhere between aroused and frightened, </span>
  <em>
    <span>great combination</span>
  </em>
  <span> — so he just shook his head and laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hummed. “So…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked at him, anticipating his next words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was everything for you?” Frank wanted to know. “Like, today, I mean. Did you have a nervous breakdown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Gerard said, and caught himself before he scratched his cheek once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank smirked. “I saw that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard lowered his hand. “You didn’t see shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rolling of tires on sediment turned their heads, and then Frank was bouncing off the steps, running to the bottom of them to meet the worn black Honda Civic that had pulled up in front of the cabin. Gerard stood up and grinned as he walked down the steps to meet Dante and his parents, standing behind Frank. </span>
  <span>Frank practically ripped the car door off its hinges, and the kid inside jumped out of his seat and into Frank’s arms. Gerard couldn’t help but blush at the whole thing. It was just too fucking cute, the way Dante’s small arms and legs wrapped around Frank’s body, the way Frank kissed his forehead and called him “little man” and “my best dude”, how Dante was rattling off recently learned facts about bugs and superheroes and how Frank was nodding and listening like it was the most important information in the world; the way Frank seemed to shine brighter the longer he held the kid in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car doors slammed shut, and Gerard snapped out of his trance just in time to meet Dante’s parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” the woman said. She was pretty, and had the same color eyes as Frank’s. Her hair was dark hair like his too, though hers was striped with gray. There was a golden cross necklace resting on her chest. “I’m Julia, Dante’s mom, Frankie’s aunt,” she explained, extending her hand to Gerard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard,” he shook her hand, smiling and making sure to meet her eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Gerard,” Julia smiled, letting Gerard’s hands fall back at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin,” the man said. He was tall, tan, and had a short crop of gray hair. His eyes were brown, the skin around them creased with crow's feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shook his hand as well, making sure to tighten his grip. “Gerard,” he said again, “nice to meet you, too, sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin let go of his hand and nodded, offering a grunt of a approval a second later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dante, this is Gerard,” Frank said, appearing at Gerard’s side with Dante wrapped around his torso like a koala. Frank had ruffled the boy’s hair into oblivion; it was standing up in several different directions, and his tan face was broken into a silly smile, showing that gap tooth Gerard had seen on his camper sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Dante,” Gerard said, grinning as he waved to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Dante said back, his voice confident and squeaky. “You’re Frankie’s friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Gerard confirmed, like he’d just realized it was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is!” Frank agreed, looking into Dante’s eyes. He turned to his aunt and uncle and told them, “he’s also Mikey’s brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Julia pined, hands clasped over her heart. “We love Mikey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the one who fixed our porch last year, right?” Martin scratched his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked at Frank. “Mikey fixes porches?” He inquired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the right amount of money,” Frank answered, letting his wry grin finish the sentence with the jab </span>
  <em>
    <span>“...he’ll do most things”. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard bit back a smile, trying to remain professional. “That’s funny,” he chuckled, hand on his hip. “I didn’t know he did that kind of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is Mikey? Is he around?” Julia asked, leaning on the hood of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shook his head. “No, he’s at the infirmary with the other kids. He’s my co-counselor, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s excellent,” Martin said. He had a gruff voice; big, like his belly and chest. “Always good to have family around.” Then he winked at Frank, who responded by smiling and hiking a giggling Dante up in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard agreed. He smiled and turned to Dante and Frank. “Let’s get this little dude set up, yeah?” He said, looking at Dante for approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Dante exclaimed, wriggling out of Frank’s embrace and running back to the car to start grabbing his stuff. His mom followed him, while his dad went around the car to pop the trunk open. Once they were out of ear-shot, Gerard spoke to Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love him,” Gerard said out of the corner of his mouth, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Frank. “A whole lot,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nudged his shoulder, sending a little shock down Gerard’s spine. “More than anything,” he confirmed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Dante was running back to the two of them, blankets and a tattered stuffed bulldog in his arms. “Frankie, help me put my bed together!” He commanded, hopping up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, little man. Take it easy,” Frank cooed, patting Dante’s head. Frank looked at Gerard, a glimmer in his eye. “That okay with you, Gee? If I go inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing his nickname come out of Frank’s mouth made his skin tingle. “Yeah,” he nodded after a second, “totally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet!” Frank beamed, and then told Dante to run on in, which the kid did with vitality. Frank started up the stairs after him, and then turned back to glance at Gerard. “I’ll do the bed, you help his folks with the other stuff?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Gerard smiled, a little lost in the moment. They were a team, at least for right now, and Gerard’s stomach flipped as he realized he didn’t want that “right now” to end. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck —</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank grinned. “Cool!” He said, and then ran inside 8A after his cousin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard unfroze and shut off his internal monologue, going around the back of the car to help Martin with Dante’s trunk. </span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>The dining hall was fucked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A symphony of yells, utensils scraping against plates, laughter, and hand-games as well as some temper tantrums from the younger crowd filled the space. The 8A boys were surprisingly well-behaved, for a group of 11-12 year olds. They were still making jokes and testing Gerard, Mikey, and Ray’s patience (that’s what kids did, Gerard knew that) but at least they weren’t trying to kill each other like the boys from Cabin 9. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, if you keep talking with your mouth full, you’re gonna choke,” Mikey was saying, his fork pointed at Marco, who’d been in a spirited “best Adam Sandler movie” debate with Nick and Julian, all while his cheeks were full of rice and chicken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marco turned away from the two boys and swallowed hard. “Sorry, Mikey,” he croaked, and then did that thing kids do where they use both hands to lift their water glass to their face and drink half the thing in five seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard and Mikey exchanged a glance, trying to hold back laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dylan spoke, his upper lip stained red from the juice in his cup. “When do we get dessert?” He asked, his blue eyes wide and expectant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When the kitchen decides it’s time, little dude,” Ray said, and then looked down at Dylan’s plate, and the mess of string beans still on it. “And when you eat a little more of those vegetables.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna eat the vegetables,” Dylan whined, poking at the soupy beans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me either,” Alex said, frowning. “They’re pretty gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dante joined in, giggling. “They taste like butt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah!” Dylan laughed. “Butt beans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex laughed really hard at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Butt beans,” Dante echoed, his gap-tooth smile on full display. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard felt like he had to pretend not to find the words “butt beans” fucking hilarious, because he was like, y’know, an authority figure — but then Mikey and Ray started cracking up, and he couldn’t hold back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laughed about butt beans until dessert came out, and a</span>
  <span>fter dessert, Craig announced there’d be some entertainment. He’d called all the camp’s resident musicians to the front of the dining hall; </span>
  <span>Gerard and Mikey smiled proudly as Ray got up from their table, their eyes following his stride as the hall erupted into applause. Gerard watched as the other camp musicians filed up to the front of the hall. He didn’t know any of them, besides Ray and — oh. Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard said in his mind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the callouses. That makes sense.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He rested his chin on his fist watched all of the musicians get set up, pretending like he wasn’t just observing Frank tune his guitar. His face was all serious and scrunched up with focus, his fingers spun the tuning knobs with determination; his hands were so sure of their movements. It reminded Gerard of how he’d shuffled his playing cards in the Rec Center, and made him wonder what else his hands could do, what they’d look like with only skin to touch. He felt a cord tug in his stomach, and bit back a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you smiling about?” Mikey whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Gerard whispered back, gazing at Frank. “Just happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey hummed and turned his attention back to the front of the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard, Mikey, Ray, and the boys were all headed back to the cabin now, the smell of campfire still clinging to their clothes. The traditional “First Night” bonfire had just ended; songs had been sung, icebreakers had been played, and stories had been told — including the story of Crazy Sam. </span>
  <span>Gerard had always hated that story, and he hated it even more now that his cabin was so close to the abandoned boathouse Crazy Sam was rumored to haunt. He felt like a baby for still being disturbed by the story, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was scary to think about some undead, vengeance-hungry, sleep away camp cryptid living just a quick hike away from where you slept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard?” said a voice near his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down and saw Dylan there, walking slowly beside him. The boy’s hand was pulled up to his mouth, the hem of his hoodie between his grinding teeth. His wide eyes were bright in the darkness, his face much paler than it normally was. Gerard had a feeling he looked about the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, little dude?” Gerard responded, his voice softer than their footsteps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dylan looked around, like he was making sure the other boys weren’t listening (and they weren’t; they were further ahead, laughing about something with Ray and Mikey) before he said, “Crazy Sam isn’t real, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard didn’t know how to answer that. Crazy Sam had been a real guy, as far as camp history went, but of course nobody’d ever actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. “I don’t think so,” he said without much thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Dylan said in a small voice, and then looked down at the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard could tell Dylan wasn’t convinced. “I’ve never seen him,” he tried again, “and neither has Ray, or Mikey. And they’ve been here for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dylan pouted. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not real. Just ‘cuz you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard pouted. He tried to think of something else to say, but everything he was coming up with felt like it’d only put a bandaid over the kid’s gash-sized fear. He could tell Dylan that it was just a dumb, made-up story the camp used to scare kids into staying in bed at night — but he knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy the kid, because it had never satisfied him, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Gerard remembered what he’d done when Mikey kept having nightmares about the weeping angels from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor Who. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d told him there was no way they’d ever encounter a weeping angel, because they didn’t live in England, and neither of them had the keys to the T.A.R.D.I.S, which is what those fuckers were after. He’d nerd-reasoned his way out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Gerard said, “but Crazy Sam can’t get you unless you let him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Dylan said, still nibbling on his hoodie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s trapped in the closet of the old boathouse, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now,” Dylan said. “What if he gets out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard thought about it for a second, trying to recall the lore of the story. “Well, canonically —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that word mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means, like, what’s true in the world of the story,” Gerard explained, then paused for a moment when Dylan still seemed confused. “Do you like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Wars</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dylan nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiled. “Sweet. Me too,” he said. “Anyway, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Wars, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>canon </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Darth Vader is Luke’s dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” Dylan said. “I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard went on. “So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>canonically, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crazy Sam only comes out on the day the angry mob chased him into the old boathouse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that’s Fourth of July,” Dylan whined. “And that’s only a few days away…and we’ll all be watching fireworks on the field! Won’t he get us there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gerard answered, “because that’ll be over before midnight, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Crazy Sam comes out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he gets us in the cabin?” Dylan challenged.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Man, this kid is imaginative, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard thought as he chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out how to proceed. He scanned the contents of his brain for something to give the kid, something he would’ve wanted to hear when it had been him asking the same question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that can happen,” Gerard said. “Nobody’s ever told a story about Crazy Sam </span>
  <em>
    <span>breaking in</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He wasn’t bullshitting now, either. Gerard had heard almost every Crazy Sam story there was, and not one of them included Crazy Sam busting down a cabin door or breaking through the ceiling. “He’s only ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>let in,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he specified, looking down at the kid, “like a vampire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Dylan said, his eyes wide with intrigue, not fear. He smiled. “I never thought about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” Gerard admitted. “But it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>canon</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dylan corrected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Gerard grinned. “Nice use of the word, dude,” he put his hand out for a high-five — he hadn’t really thought of himself as the type to do that, but it sort of just happened — “can I get a high-five?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dylan gleefully slapped his palm against Gerard’s, a grin sprawling across his face as his hand fell back at his side. “You’re really smart, Gerard,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been a while since he’d heard that. “Thanks,” Gerard smiled. “So are you, little dude.”</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>“...yeah, so, talking to the kid totally un-freaked me out,” Gerard was saying to Mikey as the two of them sat pajama-clad on Gerard’s bed. The kids were out of the cabin; still in the bathhouse with Ray. “I feel like I’ve been healed, or something,” Gerard chuckled, scratching his cheek. The motion made him think of Frank, and he held back a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That kinda happened to me tonight, too,” Mikey said, toes curled over the edge of Gerard’s bed, back pressed against the cabin wall. “Ben was embarrassed about the eyedrops, but I was like, dude, everyone who’s here is too busy worrying about how weird their nighttime medication is to even notice yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did that help?” Gerard wanted to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, or him?” Mikey said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smirked. “Yes to both, I’m assuming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey hid his face in his folded arms, but Gerard could tell he was smiling. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was a distant chorus of squealing voices, followed by the rumbling of multiple pairs of feet on wooden steps. The Way brothers turned their heads just as the cabin door opened, and the boys came spilling through it, scrambling over one another to get to their beds. </span>
  <span>Ray walked in after them, giving Gerard and Mikey a look of exasperation before letting the screen door close behind him. Mikey looked at him apologetically, but Ray just waved his hand, crossed the cabin floor, and sunk into bed. He put his headphones on, folded his hands over his stomach, and closed his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard and Mikey were staring at one another, wondering how the hell they were going to get their fun bunch of 11-12 year old boys to fall asleep with fifteen minutes to bed time. Marco and Julian were yelling “yo mama” jokes across the cabin, Alex and Dante were trading </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magick: The Gathering</span>
  </em>
  <span> cards over the guard rails of their top bunks, Nick was kneeling at his bunk saying his evening prayers, and Dylan was reassuring Ben that Crazy Sam wouldn’t get them on Fourth of July, because Gerard had told him so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty cute,” Mikey said quietly, pointing above at Ben’s bunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on the cabin door, followed by a sing-song</span>
  <em>
    <span> “helloooo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frankie!” Gerard heard Dante say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in!” Mikey yelled, leaning out of Gerard’s bunk slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked at Mikey incredulously — he didn't want Frank to see him this way, in his stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>Batman </span>
  </em>
  <span>pajama pants he’d had since the 9th grade — but it was too late to protest, Frank had already swung the door open and stepped inside. He was wearing his pajamas too; a pair of flannel pants paired with an oversized Bowie t-shirt, which Gerard recognized as the one Mia had worn that morning at the infirmary. Gerard didn’t understand how Frank could wear that shirt so soon after things had ended, but Mikey was right: Frank moved on quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Gerard, hey Mikey,” Frank smiled at the brothers, standing at Gerard’s bunk with his hands in his pockets. He rocked back on his slippered feet. “I’m just here to say goodnight to my best dude,” Frank said, gesturing towards Dante’s bunk. “Is that okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally,” Mikey said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nodded, hands folded in his lap as he looked up at Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet,” Frank smiled, and started towards Dante’s bunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, Mikey was back in his own bunk, and the boys were far more quiet than before. Gerard was sketching under the glow of his clip-on reading light. His drawing muscles were rusty, and the dragon he was drawing looked more like an alligator, but at least he could make the lines come out. </span>
  <span>He was more focused on Frank and Dante, anyway. Frank was asking him about his day, and doing that active listening thing where he went “uh huh” and “no way!” and “oh my God, that’s so cool” after everything the kid said. It was corny, but it made Gerard’s heart swell. Gerard had never gone heart-eyes over a dude who was good with kids, but maybe that was because he’d never had the chance to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiled as he heard Frank mumble one last “love you, kiddo,” to Dante, and then Frank was scuffing across the wooden floor again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank stopped short at Gerard’s bed, and they locked eyes. </span>
  <span>Gerard felt his stomach flip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank tilted his head. “Nice pajamas,” he smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Thanks,” Gerard managed to get out, the word short and sharp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nodded and resumed his pace. “‘G’night, everyone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Frank!” The boys all said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank stood at the cabin door, half-in half-out. He had his finger lingering over the light switch. “Cool if I turn this off, Gerard?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nodded fervently, and clicked off his reading light. “Go ahead,” he smiled, wanting it to get dark as soon as possible so Frank wouldn’t see the blush of his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank flipped the switch and sent the cabin into darkness. The door shut behind him, and his descending steps followed soon after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tucked his sketchbook back under his mattress, and turned over onto his side. Through the screen window next to him, he could see the basketball court and trees around it, dimly lit by the tall lamp above the blacktop. Leaves quivered in the wind and soft light, trembling like nervous hands; and Gerard wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he could cry. Something was building inside of him: something that felt tight in his stomach and throat, something that felt sweet and gentle on his mind. Gusts of warm wind rolled calmly through the window, bringing a sweet earthy smell to his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut his eyes, and dreamt of slow dancing silhouettes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'd like to end this chapter by recommending a fic! if ur not already reading it, go check out "that was easy" by metaleaterz. it's so cute and the most recent chapter made me tear up. peace and luv!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Fuck,” Gerard said out loud. Mikey was fucking right, again. “Camp Time is fucking real.”<br/>-----<br/>pining, yearning, etc. gerard and frank share a nice moment. :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The new day had come and gone quickly. It’d been a whirlwind of teeth brushing, cabin tidying, meal eating, arts-n-crafting, and child wrangling. Gerard felt like he’d stumbled through it all, falling aimlessly between schedule blocks and responsibilities like a pinball bouncing from bumper to bumper. He was learning a lot, like that kids could be fucking crazy and hard to control. They didn’t always listen; not even when you used your most calming, pedagogical voice to explain why sticking your fingers together with hot glue was a bad idea, or why you shouldn’t push sewing needles through the first layer of your skin, or why it <em> still </em>wasn’t smart to ingest marker ink even though it was supposedly non-toxic.</p><p>At some point, Gerard had ducked out of the Art Shed insanity to get a drink from the water fountain. Frank had been in his sight lines; teaching music in the Rec Center. He’d been sitting on the stage with Ray, their guitars at their sides. The kids were all sitting still, instruments or lyric sheets in their laps, their necks craned up at Frank’s smiling face and gesticulating arms. Gerard couldn’t understand how Frank could shoulder all of that attention and not look like a tumbleweed by dinnertime. </p><p>Gerard had watched him then, too. </p><p>He’d seen it when Frank went to get dessert for his table and passed his free hand over the tan shoulders of some blonde-haired counselor from the Senior unit. He'd seen it when her co-counselor gave her a coy shoulder-nudge, and he'd seen it when the campers at her table giggled. Gerard’s heart climbed up his throat; beating thick and hard against his adam’s apple, battering on the wall of his throat like it was trying to escape. Naturally, Gerard hadn’t spoken since dessert. Now, he and Mikey were “On Watch” for the night, which meant they were spending most of the night parked at the basketball court picnic table, making sure the kids didn’t sneak out of their cabins or get lost on their way to the bathroom. Gerard could see Frank moving inside his and Mikey's cabin, saying another sweet round of goodnights to Dante.</p><p>Gerard hung his head, and felt grateful to be invisible.</p><p>***</p><p>The post-lunch rest period was the one time of day nobody could say that you <em> had </em>to do anything, but even with all that freedom, campers usually just ate their canteen snacks and played games in their units. Gerard had expected more chaos, but by now, the kids knew what was and wasn’t cool; and they seldom made any trouble. </p><p>The counselors, however, were a different story. </p><p>After lunch, the twins had said something very cryptic about tending to a giant egg they found in a Baba Yaga hut a mile outside the campgrounds. Bob and Brian had told Gerard they needed to go see a dude about an ounce of weed, and then drove away for their day off. The others were gone; sucking face with whoever they were sucking face with that week. </p><p>Gerard was alone, though. Physically, he was still trying to draw that stupid dragon while listening to Bowie on the tinny speakers of Mikey’s iHome — and mentally, he was in a fucking fog, still hungover from last night’s pity-party. </p><p>He missed hanging out with everyone, like, <em> actually </em> hanging out. They’d all gotten so busy with camp and tasks and hooking up The Almighty Schedule that they barely saw each other anymore, and it sucked. Gerard felt like Ray, Brian, Nat, Kelly, Pete, the twins, Bob, and Frank had been his best friends for months, even though they’d only met like, six days ago.</p><p>“Fuck,” Gerard said out loud. Mikey was fucking right, <em> again. </em>“Camp Time is fucking real.”</p><p>Gerard startled as someone rapped on the door. He wedged his granite stained thumb between the covers of his sketchbook, and waited for a voice to follow the knock. </p><p>“Hell-ooooo!” Someone called, all squeaky and sweet. </p><p>Gerard recognized the sing-song intonation at the same time his heart backflipped at its sound. "Come in!" He said, pocketing his sketchbook between the wall and the rim of the bunk. He straightened himself out as the door opened, and Frank entered, looking as Frank as ever. </p><p>“Sweet,” was the first thing he said, smiling at Gerard as he crossed the cabin floor. “I love Bowie,” he gestured to the iHome on Gerard’s trunk, and then his bed. “Can I sit?” </p><p>Frank always asked if he could do stuff, and it made Gerard smile every time. “Yeah,” Gerard said, tucking his legs up to make space for Frank. “Enter my lair.”</p><p>Frank laughed as he hooked one arm around the top bunk’s guardrail and ducked into Gerard’s space (and then he was<em> there </em> , in his bed, <em>holy shit</em>). Frank brought his scabbed knees up to his chest, and draped his arms across them. He rested his cheek on his forearm, and gazed at Gerard. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” he said. </p><p>“What, the good kind?” Gerard responded, as well as he could with all the air knocked out of him. Frank was so pretty.</p><p>“Yeah, me fucking too,” Frank laughed, and it took Gerard a moment to realize that response was a total non sequitur.</p><p>“Sorry, what?” He said, scratching his cheek.</p><p>Frank grinned. “You’re experiencing contact bliss. Like, euphoria from your first non-camper non-co-counselor interaction in the past few days?”</p><p>“Oh,” Gerard laughed. “I guess you’re right.”</p><p>“I can tell from your face,” Frank said as he narrowed his eyes at Gerard, gesturing like he was a painter critiquing a work of art. “It’s all…” he thought for a moment, stroking his chin as he surveyed Gerard’s visage, “…ah, yes!”</p><p>Gerard waited, grinning stupidly.</p><p>“...screwed up and dumb,” Frank finished.</p><p>Gerard rolled his eyes at the shit-eating grin on Frank’s face. “So is yours, asshole,” he quipped back, lying through his teeth.</p><p>“Well, I’m <em> so </em>sorry. Excuse me for being happy to see you,” Frank said.</p><p>That made Gerard’s toes twitch. His lips felt loose, and he let some words slip out. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he said, just as Frank’s attention went to the window.</p><p>“I really miss hanging out with everyone,” Frank went on. “Now it’s all work work work. Ew, am I right? No fun for us. So shitty.” </p><p><em> “Everyone”, meaning not specifically you so calm down, loverboy, </em>Gerard's brain-demon said. Gerard forced an apathetic sigh, trying to cover his disappointment with the facade of a frustrated minimum wage employee. “Yeah. I know,” he sighed, “it fucking sucks.”</p><p>Frank kept his eyes out the window and drew a plastic-wrapped pack of Viceroys from the waistband of his gym shorts. He shot his eyes to Gerard and grinned deviously. “Wanna go smoke cigarettes about it?”</p><p>Gerard grinned. </p><p>***</p><p>“Where did you get these?” Gerard asked as he exhaled smoke towards the wide blue sky above his and Frank’s heads. They were way up in Freshmen Field, hiding in the archery range near the camp borderline. Their backs were pressed against one of the targets, the bulls eye right between their touching shoulders. The range was absent of archers, but Gerard probably wouldn’t have noticed a stray arrow to the chest. Cupid had put one there a while ago.</p><p>“I’m eighteen,” Frank said, cheeks hollowing as he took a drag. “I can get my own cigs.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Gerard laughed, “but I thought they only sold these in Canada?”</p><p>Frank draped his hand over his bent knee, tapping ashes to his side as he looked at Gerard. “You got me,” Frank chuckled. “I got them from Jen. She’s Canadian. Did you know they call cigarettes 'darts' in Canada? Isn't that funny?”</p><p>“Jen?” Gerard raised an eyebrow, ignoring the latter half of Frank's utterance. He pretended like he didn’t remember the girl from the dining hall with the pretty shoulders and long blonde hair and asked, “is she like, your girlfriend?”</p><p>Frank choked on his inhale, and then started coughing. <em>“Girlfriend?”</em> He croaked, looking at Gerard from the crook of his elbow. “No fucking way,” he winced, stifling another cough. “We’re just —”</p><p>“Hooking up,” Gerard said, trying not to sound too bitter. He let Frank choke on his coughs and wrapped his lips around the cigarette, inhaling sharply. “I got you,” he smirked.</p><p>Frank stopped coughing, and a wide grin broke across his face, like he’d just discovered some great treasure. “Who are <em> you </em>getting with, Playboy?” He said as he nudged Gerard’s shoulder.</p><p>“What?! I’m fucking not,” Gerard stammered, gawking at Frank, who was smirking back. <em>God, this is fucking brutal,</em> he thought. Gerard used the cigarette as an excuse to plug his mouth and gather his thoughts, which were flying around his brain like papers from an exploded filing cabinet. “I’m not doing that stuff,” he said on his exhale, hoping Frank couldn’t see the way his fingers shook as he pulled them away from his lips. </p><p>Frank gave Gerard a coy look and rested his head against the target. “I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“Why not?” Gerard made sure to make it sound like an actual question, and not a whine of failure.</p><p>Frank scowled at him. “Look at you, man,” he said, gesturing up and down Gerard’s slumped figure.</p><p>Gerard looked down, and didn’t see much. He looked back to Frank.</p><p>“You’re like, every girl’s dream,” Frank went on, puffing on his cigarette. “You’re a nice, sensitive dude. And you’re all artistic and stuff."</p><p>Gerard's chest was thundering. "How do you know I'm sensitive?"</p><p>"Takes one to know one," Frank chuckled. "Simple as that."</p><p>"Oh," Gerard smiled.</p><p>"But more importantly," Frank said, scanning his eyes down Gerard’s head, “you also have great hair. That's a bonus.”</p><p>“Well, thanks,” Gerard said, turning his face towards the sky. He couldn’t tell if his cheeks were hot from the sun or from Frank, but there was starting to be very little difference between the two.</p><p>“On second thought,” Frank chirped, and Gerard shifted his eyes towards his grinning face, “you could use a little trim.” And before Gerard could laugh and tell Frank to fuck off, the dude’s fingers were reaching for the lower tufts of his hair. </p><p>“Can I?” Frank asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard rushed.</p><p>Frank smiled, and wrapped a strand of Gerard’s hair around his index finger. “I’m pretty good at cutting hair…”</p><p>“Yeah?” Gerard breathed, gluing his body to the target behind him.</p><p>“…I could do yours, if you wanted me to,” Frank suggested, twirling Gerard’s hair, studying it. </p><p>Warmth radiated off Frank’s hand, singeing the skin of Gerard’s neck and making his nerves tingle. Instinctively, Gerard’s eyes fell to Frank’s jaw. He noticed the stubble there, and hidden underneath it, another hickey. </p><p>Gerard felt like he’d been hit in the chest. </p><p>He hoped his face didn’t give it away, but it <em> hurt, </em>physically fucking hurt, to see that shit there, especially when they were so close — shoulders touching, faces turned to one another, Frank’s fingers in his hair — and it’d only be a fraction of a movement, a fraction of a second, to bring their lips together. All he could focus on was that bite mark; a bruise-colored reminder that it hadn’t been his lips on Frank’s skin, and that it probably wouldn't ever be. Frank was teasing him, and the worst part was that it was unintentional. It just wasn’t fucking fair. None of it was.</p><p>Then Frank’s wristwatch beeped, and he pulled his hand away. </p><p>And like that, it was just another blistery, buggy, busy, bull-shitty summer day.</p><p>Gerard’s exhale poured out of him suddenly and heavily, like a deluge. With his eyes cast down, he noticed that Frank’s fingers were in the grass. The dirt and tiny insects didn’t deserve the warmth of his hands. <em>What a fucking waste.</em></p><p>Frank huffed and got to his feet. “Next period in two minutes,” he announced, tucking his cigarettes back in the waistband of his shorts. “We gotta go before the archers get here.” He smiled, and kicked the bottom of Gerard’s shoe.</p><p>Gerard, still seated, felt small under Frank’s gaze. The sky behind Frank was a blinding, true blue; almost unreal. </p><p>“C’mon, Gee,” Frank said, scratching his upper lip. “We’re gonna get caught.”</p><p>Gerard smiled at Frank’s familiar gesture, and finally lifted himself off the target. Upright, he was the one looking down at Frank. He felt a little more normal now. “Jonesing already?” He said.</p><p>Frank looked at him quizzically. “Huh?”</p><p>“The lip thing,” Gerard said, mimicking Frank’s lip-scratch thing. “That’s your tic.”</p><p>“Oh! Yeah, man,” Frank rocked on his heels, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Nicotine addiction is a bitch.”</p><p>“Yeah. No kidding,” Gerard laughed. </p><p>***</p><p>Now Gerard and Frank were approaching the parking lot between the Rec Center and Art Shed, watching as campers filed into their respective buildings for their afternoon activities. A distinct odor of cigarette smoke hung in the air, reminding Gerard of the moment they’d shared, and how ephemeral it’d been. </p><p>“Thanks,” Gerard said, pushing his hair out of his face. “For the, uh,” he looked at all the campers and censored himself, “y’know. <em> Refreshments.</em>” </p><p>“No problem, dude,” Frank smiled. The Rec Center was filling up, and kids were looking at Frank, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Listen, did you schedule your day off yet?”</p><p>“No?” Gerard said, raising his eyebrow.</p><p>“Request next Friday off,” said Frank, a little glimmer in his eye. “Don’t ask why.”</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard chuckled, a little confused. “Are you setting me up to get kidnapped, Frank?”</p><p>“Would you mind?” Frank teased. </p><p><em> Not at all. </em> “Oh, <em> fuck </em> you,” Gerard scoffed.</p><p>“Hey,” said the familiar voice behind Gerard — Ray Toro. </p><p>He was holding his guitar in one hand, some papers in the other. “Watch your language around the kids, man,” Ray warned from the corner of his mouth, pointing his thumb in the direction of the kids inside the Rec Center.</p><p>Gerard smiled, seeing an opportunity. “I know the height is a little misleading,” he started, feeling like he was about to drop a bomb, “but Frank’s actually an adult.” </p><p>Gerard and Ray erupted into laughter, ignoring the groan that came out of Frank’s lips.</p><p>“Low blow, Gerard,” Ray smirked, looking serious for only a second before he burst into a wide smile. “Though I guess everything’s a <em> low blow </em> with Frankie, eh?”</p><p>Gerard giggled as Ray smiled, and Frank waved his hands. “Okay, alright,” Frank said, pink in the face. “Have you giants had your fun?”</p><p>Ray raised an eyebrow. “Giants? Gerard’s no giant.”</p><p>“Hey,” Gerard pouted. “I’m like, at least five-nine.”</p><p>“And I’m six-one. You should be honored that I’m even talking to you,” Ray joked. </p><p>Gerard rolled his eyes and Ray tilted his head towards the Rec Center. </p><p>“C’mon, Frankie,” Ray said, “let’s go.” </p><p>Ray and Frank started towards the Rec Center. As Frank crossed over the threshold, he looked at Gerard. </p><p>“Next Friday!” Frank reminded him, finger-guns pointed his way. “Don’t forget!”</p><p>“I won’t!” Gerard saluted.</p><p>***</p><p>That night, Gerard asked Connor for next Friday off, and tried to hide his grin when his wish was granted.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for all the continued interest in this story. i hope u guys r enjoying it! i know this chapter was short. next chapter is a rly fun one, though. <br/>stay sane and rock on!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Frank,” Gerard mumbled, peeking at Mikey. “I think I like him.”<br/>Mikey’s lips were slanted. “Gerard…”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lack of confidence from the first week had faded away, and Gerard felt a lot more like a camp counselor now. Having the routine down — wake up, wrangle kids to the bathhouse, eat breakfast, cabin clean-up, morning Art Shed shift, lunch, rest period, afternoon Art Shed shift, dinner, evening activity, then bedtime — helped a lot. </p><p>Also, finally being able to see his friends on a regular fucking basis helped a lot too. Once everyone had gotten used to the schedule, they’d been able to find little holes in it; tiny pockets of time to sneak by and say hello to one another. The past few rest periods had been spent with at least three other friends — Gerard, Bob, Kelly, Frank, and Pete had spent yesterday’s rest period pretending to tidy up the basketball court when really, they were just gossipping about Ray and Nat — and though Gerard loved those guys, he really missed that one day where it’d just been him and Frank (and Frank’s fingers in his hair), sharing smokes and talking about nothing. </p><p>The evening activity was currently underway. Craig and the other administrators had tacked a large, white sheet to the broadside of the Rec Center, and the entire camp was seated on the field below it, necks craned up as <em> Night At The Museum </em>played on the great white sheet.</p><p>Gerard couldn't see Frank in the crowd, no matter how hard he tried. The screen provided scarce light; only enough to see the 8A boys (who were laughing and eating the popcorn and M&amp;Ms Gerard had supplied via Lindsey, bless her kitchen credit) and the faces of Mikey and Ray, who were right next to him. The three of them were sitting behind the kids, passing a box of Sour Patch Kids back and forth.</p><p>“So. The kitchen girl,” Ray whispered, nudging Gerard’s shoulder with his own. </p><p>Gerard turned to Ray, finally giving up his futile search for Frank. “Lindsey?” He said, licking sour crystals off his lips. He tossed the box of candies to Mikey, who caught it between his palms with a smack and a rustle. </p><p>“Ooh, <em> Lindsey, </em>” Ray repeated, his eyebrows wiggling. “Cute name.”</p><p>Gerard raised an eyebrow. “What about you and Nat, dude?”</p><p>Ray scowled back at him. “What about us?”</p><p>Wet grass tickled between Gerard’s fingers as he leaned back on his palms. He stared down his nose at Ray. “Why are you asking about Lindsey if you guys are still…?”</p><p>Ray’s face softened, and he shook his head. “I’m not talking about <em> me </em> , doofus,” he said, swatting Gerard’s knee with the back of his palm. “<em>You, </em> dumbass. She clearly likes <em> you </em>.” </p><p>Well, Lindsey did like Gerard. They were friends, and that’s what Gerard said in response. He knew that if he’d just said “she’s gay” the entire subject would have been dropped, but Gerard wasn’t going to just out Lindsey like that. That wouldn’t be right.</p><p>Ray shook his head. “Nah, dude. She gave you all these snacks —”</p><p>“She gave <em> the boys </em>all these snacks, Ray.”</p><p>“— and she smiles at you all the time,” Ray went on, like he was relaying evidence to the jury. “I bet she’s the reason we got extra dessert yesterday, too.”</p><p>Gerard thought he’d already explained that Lindsey was his friend, but Ray was adamant. He sighed, preparing a different approach. “That’s true,” he said, “but that was because she owed me one. I let her into the Art Shed past curfew the other night.”</p><p>“Ohhhh,” Ray smirked. “And what’d you guys do in there, hm? <em> Finger </em> painting?”</p><p>“Ray, stop being gross,” Mikey finally chimed in, tossing the Sour Patch Kids to him. </p><p>The box snapped against Ray’s palms. “I’m not being gross,” he chuckled, “Gerard’s the one being gross.”</p><p>Gerard sighed. “Ray, can you just —”</p><p>“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Mikey announced. He stared at Gerard. “Coming?”</p><p>***</p><p>The Art Shed bathroom was pretty much a shoebox with a toilet inside, and it smelled accordingly. Gerard’s tailbone was pressed against the sink, his hands braced over its ceramic edges. Mikey stood less than a foot away, his back against the door, ankles crossed over one another. Gerard waited until he heard the lock switch closed to speak.</p><p>“So,” Gerard said, lifting his eyes to Mikey’s. “Ray doesn’t know I’m gay?”</p><p>Mikey’s blank expression turned into a glare. “Of course not, dude. You know I wouldn’t do that.” </p><p>“I know,” Gerard nodded, chewing on his nail. His thoughts were going in circles, dancing around his skull like the moths flitting around the bathroom’s singular lightbulb. The only reason he hadn’t said anything about being gay was because it never came up. He wasn’t worried about getting fired or beaten up or anything, but now he was worried it could change things with Frank. What if he freaked out? His cheek was itching, and he scratched at it until Mikey snapped him out of his thoughts.</p><p>“Gee,” he said. </p><p>When Gerard looked at Mikey, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were unblinking behind his glasses. He bit the inside of his cheek before speaking.</p><p>“What’s going on with you, dude?” Mikey said as he gestured to Gerard, his arm falling limp at his side a moment later. “You look like you’re in another dimension right now.”</p><p>“I kind of feel that way, I guess.” Gerard exhaled. He thought about lying (<em>I’m just tired. This camp shit is too stressful, and I miss my dark ass dorm) </em> but Mikey wouldn’t believe him, anyway. He tilted his head down, and the words pinched in his throat like something hard to swallow. </p><p>“Frank,” he mumbled, peeking at Mikey. “I think I like him.”</p><p>Mikey’s lips were slanted. “Gerard…”</p><p>Gerard tilted his head back, letting it rest against the mirror. “I know, I know,” he said to the ceiling, staring at its chipping paint and rotting crossbeams. </p><p>“Frank isn’t…” Mikey said, his voice wandering like it was caught in a labyrinth, “he’s not, um…” </p><p>“I think he was flirting with me,” Gerard said (hoped). “A few days ago. During rest hour.” He thought about Frank’s fingers in his hair, and felt his heart muscles constrict. “He was like, playing with my hair, and —”</p><p>“Gerard,” Mikey commanded.</p><p>Gerard was startled to see Mikey on the wall opposite him (how did he move so quietly?), as well as his grave expression.</p><p>“Frank is just like that, okay?” Mikey explained. “He flirts with everyone. I mean, you see the hickeys and shit, right? He’s…y’know,” Mikey made some sort of hand gesture that looked like nothing, but had been meant to evoke Frank’s rabbit-like sexual appetite. Gerard understood.</p><p>“So?” Was all he said.</p><p>“<em> So, </em> I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”</p><p>“I dunno, Mikey,” Gerard chuckled, hands in his pockets. “He was super touchy.”</p><p>“He’s a touchy-feely dude,” Mikey shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything, Gee.”</p><p>Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Running your fingers through someone’s hair doesn’t mean anything?”</p><p>“Not if you’re Frank,” Mike said. </p><p>“And asking someone to spend their day off with you doesn’t mean anything, either?” </p><p>“It’s not going to be the two of you alone, man. Isn’t Ray also going? Nat, too?”</p><p>Gerard paused. “…Maybe.”</p><p>Mikey sighed. “Look, the bottom line is this. You don’t know Frank, I do,” he lectured, “and I know he’s just being friendly.”</p><p>Gerard felt his chest getting tight. “You’re an asshole,” he snapped.</p><p>“How am I an asshole?” Mikey wanted to know.</p><p>“I know I don’t have a fucking snowball’s chance in Hell, okay?” Gerard croaked, his voice cracking over the aches behind his ribs. “But can’t you let me, like, <em> dream? </em>Hope?”</p><p>Mikey was silent, his face taut.</p><p>Gerard felt like his throat was on fire. “Why rain on my fucking parade, Mikey?”</p><p>“Because your parade is a deluded precession to an inevitable, painful heartbreak,” Mikey deadpanned.</p><p>“Wow,” Gerard widened his eyes at his little brother. “Thanks oh-so-fucking-much for protecting me, Mikey Way. Totally incapable of doing that myself.” </p><p>Mikey’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down like he wanted to say something, but was fighting it and pushing it down. Gerard was experiencing the opposite thing. He felt the anger rising hot in his throat, its flames crawling over his tongue, licking at the barrier of his mouth.</p><p>“And nice fucking vocabulary words, by the way,” Gerard let the heat out, “<em> inevitable? </em> Did you learn that studying for your fucking S.A.Ts?”</p><p>Mikey laughed, cooling the air. “Now <em> you’re </em> the one being an asshole,” he pointed out, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans.</p><p>“You started it,” Gerard snarled, still seething.</p><p>“No, actually, <em> you </em> started it,” Mikey said. “Nineteen years ago, when you came out of Mom’s va—”</p><p>“Oh, blow it out your ass,” Gerard cut in, head held high with his chin pointed at Mikey like it was a knife to his throat.</p><p>“Listen,” Mikey pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do whatever you want with Frank, okay? Enjoy it, even —”</p><p>“I fucking will,” Gerard spat.</p><p>“— but think about what I said,” Mikey finished.</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard grumbled, already pushing Mikey’s warning to a spot at the back of his head where he’d hopefully never find it again.</p><p>Mikey glared at him, probably sensing his stubbornness. He huffed through his nostrils. “You’re a total bitch when your heart is broken, Gerard.” </p><p>Gerard stared daggers at his little brother.</p><p>“You completely fucking shut down,” Mikey went on. “And that just can’t happen here. Like, I know we’re having fun, but we also kind of have an actual job to do.”</p><p>At the lull, Gerard jumped in. “But you’re allowed to fuck Alicia whenever you want?”</p><p>“Yes!” Mikey exclaimed, his tone desperate. “Because if she breaks my heart, I’ll be fucking cool!” </p><p>Mikey’s chest heaved as his words settled in the air. He was staring at Gerard, pleading, begging him to say the next thing, but Gerard could tell by the tautness of his Mikey’s jaw that he had more to say. He always fucking did, the little shit. </p><p>“Go on,” Gerard encouraged, “spit it out, Mikey.”</p><p>The fire from Gerard’s words hit Mikey. His brows furrowed, he clenched his jaw, and then he stepped forwards, pointing sharply at Gerard’s chest. </p><p>“I fucking <em> bathed </em> you, Gerard! I came to your dorm in the middle of the fucking night when you were losing your shit, and I bathed you, you fucking asshole!” Mikey yelled, veins popping out of his neck. “I missed the beginning of senior year for you. I came out on the train and I brought you snacks, I brushed your hair, I listened to your bullshit — when you were up enough to talk, that is — and I did your laundry, you motherfucker! You couldn’t get out of bed, Gerard! You couldn’t eat, you couldn’t do <em> anything </em> but sulk and be a fucking wreck over Daniel, who I never fucking liked anywa—” </p><p>Suddenly, the thunderstorm on Mikey’s face cleared. His features became terribly soft, and then he looked horrified, covering his mouth with both hands like he’d looked in the mirror across from him and seen a demon staring back. Slowly, he flattened himself against the wall once more.</p><p>Gerard just sat on the sink and let the empty tears roll down his cheeks. He knew Mikey hadn’t liked Daniel, he’d known from all the passive aggressive remarks and huffs, but he’d never heard him say it out loud and with so much vitriol. Mikey’s words were weighing heavy on Gerard, pulling his shoulders and his feet downwards with the burden of their accuracy. Gerard felt like throwing up, his stomach tightened and bubbly. </p><p>“You just don’t fucking remember what it was like, Gerard,” Mikey said after a while. </p><p>Mikey was right again — Gerard didn’t remember, and that was good. If he remembered, it’d crush him every single day. Gerard knew that, and Mikey knew that, so Gerard just stayed quiet, and let his brother to get it all out.</p><p>“And, <em> no </em>, I don’t resent you for it,” Mikey said, pushing his glasses up. “I’d fucking help all over again if I had to, but I don’t think I really could. Not here.” Mikey exhaled, putting his hands behind his back. “We’re supposed to be focused on the kids, y’know?”</p><p>“Fuck, Mikey,” Gerard whined, “I feel like an idiot.”</p><p>“Why?” Mikey rushed forward, and then retreated, giving Gerard his space. He frowned. “I didn’t mean to get all crazy at you, Gee. I just kind of exploded —”</p><p>“Because I turned into a fucking vegetable over a guy who did absolutely nothing wrong!” Gerard whined. “All Daniel did was fall out of love with me,” he said, looking at Mikey. </p><p>There was that tightness in Mikey’s jaw again, like he was keeping what he wanted to say clamped between his teeth. “But you’re allowed to get like that over the person who takes your virginity,” Mikey blurted out, fast. “Remember how I cried over Jessica?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled, fingers scraping against his cheek. </p><p>“Feelings are feelings,” Mikey exhaled. “And it’s okay if they get intense.”</p><p>Gerard tilted his head to the side and exhaled. “I fucking love you, Mikey,” was all he said.</p><p>“Man,” Mikey sighed. “I love you too.” He snuck a knuckle behind his glasses and rubbed his eye. He was fucking exhausted — Gerard could tell from the way his shoulders were falling forward — and his eyes always ached when he got tired.</p><p>“I’m sorry I went all finger-pointing-Dad on you,” Mikey said, “and I’m really fucking sorry that we fought.”</p><p>“We didn’t.” Gerard said as he reached for Mikey’s hand. He smiled happily when he took it. His skin was warm.</p><p>“Let’s get out of here, dude,” Mikey said, already pulling Gerard towards the door. “It fucking stinks in here.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re lucky you don’t have to be next to it all day.” Gerard said, laughing as he and Mikey tumbled back into the night. </p><p>***</p><p>Gerard tried to ignore the aches in his legs he weaved between painted-on tables and wobbly chairs, tossing loose crayons into the plastic bin cradled against his hip. It wasn’t dark outside yet, but the hush of evening had fallen. He no longer heard the yelps and screams of campers, just the blowing of the wind and the occasional whizz from a firefly or mosquito’s wings. Through the shed’s graffitied windows, he could see that the campground lamps had flickered on; a precursor to the oncoming sunset. He stared at them wistfully.</p><p>“It’s going to be a pretty one,” said someone from the doorway.</p><p>“Hi, Frank,” Gerard said, still gazing at the blush-colored sky. He didn’t need to look to the door; he knew Frank’s voice by now. “You’re always sneaking up on me, you know that?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Frank giggled. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Gerard looked to find him leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The light was dimming, but Gerard could see he wore a smile on his face. “What are you, a fucking vampire?” Gerard laughed, “of course you can come in.”</p><p>“Thank you, Van Helsing,” Frank joked. He sprung himself off the doorframe, and stepped into the shed. “I just didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not,” he said as he crossed over the concrete floor. </p><p>Gerard put his full bin of crayons on the shelf behind him. “Well, I don’t,” he said as he turned around. He remembered his and Mikey’s talk from the night before, and deflected. “‘Cuz it gets kinda creepy in here at night,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And I could also use some help, actually.” </p><p>“I can fucking fight off any ghost, man,” Frank said as he bounded over to where Gerard stood, “and I can help, too. What do you want me to do?”</p><p>Gerard ignored the pull of Frank’s beaming smile, and gestured to the sullied table by the window, the one with broken markers and unusable scraps of construction paper atop it. “You can do that one,” Gerard said. Frank looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Gerard gathered that he was awaiting further instruction. “Just collect the paper scraps and put them in the recycling bin by the door. The markers have to go in the trash, they’re totally useless now.”</p><p>“Aye aye, Captain,” Frank said, and then sprung into action.</p><p>Gerard grabbed a broom from the utility closet, and began sweeping up. As Gerard busied himself, it occurred to him that Frank being here was sort of odd. After spending all day in the Rec Center, wouldn’t he like, want to use his pre-dinner break to swap spit with whoever? Why was he here?</p><p>“Busy day?” Frank asked.</p><p>Suddenly, that train of thought left the station. </p><p>“Fuck yeah it was,” Gerard chuckled as he corralled pencil shavings and loose beads into one corner of the room. He’d slept like a fucking baby the night before (emotional Mikey-Gerard conversations were the best sedative), but all that rest hadn’t prepared him for the sort of day he’d had. The campers' screaming voices and petty arguments were still live in his head. There were glass bead fragments lodged in his palm, and he was certain he’d be brushing acrylic paint out of his hair later. “You?” He asked Frank.</p><p>“Kids were alright. No complaints,” he replied. “But shit’s getting real. Me and Ray started writing our Color War songs already.”</p><p>“Oh fuck,” Gerard cursed, pausing his sweep. He popped up and stared at Frank. “I totally forgot about Color War.”</p><p>Frank put down the stack of scrap paper he’d collected, and stared at Gerard. “You forgot about Color War?”</p><p>Gerard laughed at the scandalized look on Frank’s face. “Yeah,” he ran a hand through his dirty hair, parts of it clumped together with paint. “Fuck.”</p><p>“How could you forget about that? It’s like, the event of the summer, dude,” Frank said.</p><p>“Well, it’s only been for-fucking-ever since I’ve had to think about it,” he replied. </p><p>It was all coming back to him now, though. Color War was a three-day long event, during which the camp was split into two teams: Red and Gray. Over the course of those three days, all kinds of games and challenges could be won for points towards your team. You could lose points for general mischief, foul play, or for talking during the weird and ascetic tradition of silent meals. The major event was day three’s game of capture the flag: the Red Team got the entire north side of camp, and the Gray Team got the entire south side. People went insanely hard for the game, employing military-level technique and strategy just to score some points. Some people even used military ranks in their team sections, calling each other “private” and “major”. The songs Frank had mentioned were sung at the final bonfire of Color War, and they were a team’s final chance to earn points before the directors declared a winner. </p><p>Color War was kind of a huge fucking deal, and Frank was right, it was insane that Gerard had forgotten about it.</p><p>“I’m on the Red Team,” Gerard said as he resumed sweeping, “but you probably knew that already, ‘cuz of Mikey.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank answered, grinning as he started gathering the busted markers. “Me and Dante are your rivals.”</p><p>“Ooh,” Gerard crooned as he brushed his pile of debris into the dustbin, “you guys are on Gray?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Frank sang.</p><p>“Well, we beat your team’s ass last time I was here,” Gerard said, carrying the dustbin towards the trash. Frank followed behind, scrap paper in one hand and broken markers in the other. As they walked, Gerard reminisced. He recalled all the Grays his fast-footed little brother had tagged out back when they were kids, the whoops and hollers from the Red Team as Mikey triumphantly brought counselors twice his size over to their jail. Gerard hadn’t been so athletic, but he’d scored lots of points in the Art-related challenges. He smiled. Color War was kind of a fun tradition. </p><p>“Yeah, well you didn’t have to beat me last time you were here,” Frank boasted as they stood on either side of the trash bins. </p><p>Gerard cocked his head to the side, taking in Frank’s wry expression. “What, are you some kind of force to be reckoned with?”</p><p>“You’ll have to wait and see,” Frank smirked.</p><p>“Oh, I fully intend to,” said Gerard.</p><p>They glared at one another and dumped their respective shit into their respective bins, objects and things clattering to the bottoms of the plastic containers with dull thuds and smacks. Frank wiped his hands against his gym shorts. Gerard clipped the dustbin back onto the broomstick before standing the thing up against the wall. </p><p>Now empty handed, the only thing he and Frank could do was stare one another. The windows let in pink and purple light from the dusky sky, backlighting Frank. His features were cast in a lilac shadow, the whites of his eyes and the pink of his lips sparkling in the low light. The charade of rivalry was over. He was breathtaking again; so much so that Gerard’s chest ached, swirled. It felt like that moment on the field all over again: a matter of close, inconsequential seconds that Gerard’s emotions would twist into something more substantial. A delusion painted in shades of lilac, pink, and rose.</p><p>Frank’s lip twitched. “I brought something,” he said.</p><p>Gerard swallowed hard. “What is it?”</p><p>Frank pulled a rectangular scrap of black fabric out of the pocket of his gym shorts. He pinched it between his fingers, and dropped it into Gerard’s waiting palm.</p><p>“What’s it for?” Gerard asked, clenching his fist around it. It was soft against his skin, cotton, and Gerard wondered which t-shirt it was cut off from, which fragment of Frank’s life he was holding in his palm.</p><p>“The hoodie,” Frank smiled, soft and sweet. “With the bloody guy,” he pointed at his own chest, “I didn’t forget.”</p><p>Gerard felt his face get warm. “I did,” he chuckled, his cheek itching. “Sorry.”</p><p>Frank smiled. “That’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t have anything to put him on before,” he gestured towards Gerard’s closed fist, “but now you do.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard nodded, feeling flushed. “You’re right.”</p><p>A couple of moments and two sneaky cigarettes later, they were walking down the main path towards the dining hall. There were groups of campers and counselors flocking in from every direction, heading towards the flagpole for the dinner send-off.</p><p>“So did you get Friday off?” Frank asked.</p><p>“Yep,” Gerard said, hands in his pockets. He was thumbing at the scrap of fabric Frank had given him, already imagining how he was going to sneak Frank’s features into the bloody dude’s visage. “What are we doing, exactly?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, man,” Frank sighed, clapping his hand over Gerard’s shoulder. </p><p>Gerard felt the warmth from his hand and peered down at him curiously, noticing the peculiar smile on his face. “I don’t like that look on your face, Frank.”</p><p>“What?” Frank moped, dropping his arm back at his side. Gerard tried not to miss it too much. “Afraid I’m gonna go Dracula on you?”</p><p>Gerard chuckled. “At this point? Yes.”</p><p>Frank scoffed. “I’d have turned you by now if I wanted to,” he said, “bet your blood tastes like shit anyway.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Gerard said. He tested a playful nudge at Frank’s shoulder, and Frank nudged him right back. Gerard stumbled a little, too giddy to care.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>my friend said mikey's admittance in the convo btwn him and G reminded her of the scene in Hereditary when (spoilers) toni collette says "i never wanted to be your mother", and wow, what an iconic comment. and an iconic film, too — if you haven't seen it, i highly suggest watching it.<br/>next chapter will be out soon. thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>gerard finds out what's happening on friday, and prepares for his day off with frank.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all so much for your continued interest and enthusiasm towards this story. it's really encouraging to know people are enjoying it and are wanting to see more &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“It’s a house party,” Frank said the next day at the Junior unit picnic tables.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard ceased the easy scritch of his pencil. “A house party?” He said, closing his sketchbook. If his draft for Frank’s hoodie patch was in between those pages, that was nobody’s business but his — and if drawing had suddenly become easier over the past two days, that was also nobody’s business. Not even his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Frank said as he stole a Dorito from the bag in Bob’s hands. Bob hissed in protest and snatched the bag away, grumbling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard glared at Frank. “Why didn’t you just fucking tell me that, Frank?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I was building suspense,” Frank smirked as he crunched the chip between his jaw </span>
  <em>
    <span>(his perfect, beautiful jaw), </span>
  </em>
  <span>“duh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard didn’t say anything. He just shook his head and tapped his pencil against his sketchbook, feeling the vibrations from it travel up his hand and into his body, trying to use its </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap-tap </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a metronome for his thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, man?” Frank said, glancing at Gerard’s nervous twitch. “You don’t like parties?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite the contrary,” Nat butted in as she continued braiding a very smiley Ray Toro’s hair. “Gerard loves parties.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially when there’s pool involved,” Pete added. He smacked a playing card down across from Wyatt, who frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t really at the boathouse, Frank,” Wyatt said, tossing his cards down in frustration. His hands came folded up under his chin, and he smiled at Frank. “But our friend Gerard <em>loves</em> to have fun.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>Gerard gave a weak smile in Wyatt’s direction, the </span><em><span>tap-tap </span></em><span>of his pencil growing louder in his head.</span> <span>It was cute that everyone remembered the boathouse, Gerard’s party persona, and his random pool victory, but what they had forgotten (or, more accurately, never knew) was that Gerard had only been able to do those things because Mikey had been there, holding Gerard’s hand until he got drunk enough to let Mikey go. Mikey wouldn’t be there tomorrow, because he was staying behind to watch the kids. Gerard couldn’t go to a party without Mikey.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I for one am fucking excited,” Ray chimed in, running his hand down the two completed braids on either side of his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap-tap-tap-tap </span>
  </em>
  <span>But it was just a party, right? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tap-tap-tap-tap </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard had been to that one SVA party for a whole twenty minutes without Mikey, and he hadn’t died. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tap-tap-tap-tap </span>
  </em>
  <span>What was the worst thing that could happen? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not just any house party,” Ray went on as Nat joined him on the bench, “it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gabe Saporta</span>
  </em>
  <span> house party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap-tap-tap-ta—not just any house party. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Gerard cursed under his breath, dropping his pencil on his notebook. He glared around the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Gabe Sa-Party, if you will,” Wyatt cracked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank laughed, oblivious to Gerard’s plight. “Good one, dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could go,” Pete sighed, shoulders slumping forward. He pouted. “I miss Gabe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s Gabe?” Gerard asked, trying not to sound panicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A friend,” Frank said, smiling at Gerard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard supposed that was his reward for joining the conversation, and what a reward it was. He smiled back, feeling slightly calmer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll like him,” Frank added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the other end of the table, Pete was gathering up his playing cards. “He used to work here,” he paused to glare at Bob, “until Bob’s aunt fired him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bob turned his icy eyes in Pete’s direction. “Hey man,” he said, “don’t lump me in with Linda. We are two separate entities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sins of the father</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter,” Wyatt said to Pete, his diction gnostic as usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What he said,” Bob motioned to Wyatt. “Besides,” he said through a mouthful of Dorito, “I thought it was pretty fucking funny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard wanted to know what had happened, but it seemed like asking Pete (who was still glaring) or Bob (who was biased, maybe?) would start a nuclear war. He turned to Frank for answers, but he was tuned out. His eyes were sparkling and fixed on some tube top-wearing, long-legged lady counselor across the unit. Gerard looked away, trying to hide his jealousy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikey’s always fucking right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ray’s voice brought Gerard back to the topic at hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gabe was a Senior unit counselor until, like, last year,” Ray explained to Gerard and Nat. “Linda fired him after his ‘Quabie hunting’ prank went awry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quabie’s the name of the monster that supposedly lives in the lake, if you didn’t know,” Bob said to Nat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A fucking lake monster!?” Nat squawked, looking at Ray incredulously. “What the hell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What the hell” indeed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Quabie hadn’t been a thing when Gerard was a camper, but fuck, if it had been, Gerard would have definitely blamed it for the sailboating accident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Ray laughed, “last summer, the campers were like, totally obsessed with Quabie —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wyatt,” Gerard whispered to the folklore-obsessed, LARPing dude, “did you have anything to do with this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I plead the fifth,” was all Wyatt said, one long-fingered hand up in the air in solemnity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ — so at thirty minutes to bedtime, Gabe rounded up some campers and took them down to the waterfront to go hunting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And their counselors just let him?” Nat asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were in on it,” Frank said, tuned back in. He just had a wandering eye, was all. “Everyone was. It was all chill until it wasn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Ray said before he continued. “So when he brought them all down to the lake, the campers were like, all excited and shit, waiting for Quabie and her babies to come out of the lake. And then, all these Senior campers come busting out of the surrounding area, dressed in costumes and covered in lakeweed, like, as if they’re Quabie and her offspring. Oh, and they had these like, sick-ass glowing eyes made out of glowsticks —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking christ,” Gerard said, mouth agape. Nothing that exciting had happened when he was a camper — granted, if it had, he’d have shit his pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“— and then they totally bumrushed the kids. Like, borderline attacked them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pete butted in, “which hadn’t been part of Gabe’s artistic vision, by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ray agreed, “it was supposed to be fun, y’know. Like a scene from a movie or something…but it ended up just being sort of traumatizing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can imagine,” Gerard said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Frank as he stole another chip from Bob, who surrendered the bag to Frank. He muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and munched on. “Like, one of the kids got so freaked out that she decked one of the Quabies in the face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude walked around with a black eye for a week,” Bob added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nat’s eyes were wide in amazement. “That’s fucking sick,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Pete started, “until Linda blamed Gabe for the whole thing and fucking fired him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bob leaned forward, scowling down the table. “Pete, I swear to every god —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s better off,” interrupted Wyatt, cutting the tension. “The small-minded administration of Camp Warren never could comprehend his high-concept, unique body of work. He was doomed to be misunderstood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A terrible fate,” Frank concurred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wyatt nodded. “Indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank grinned at Gerard, eyes alight. “Excited now, Gee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard nodded </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but his fingers itched to tap his pencil again.</span>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <span>The lull of rest period was over, and afternoon activities were starting. Gerard was on his way to the Art Shed when he saw Mikey standing at the bottom of Freshman field, clipboard in hand and white referee whistle around his neck. Around him were the Junior sports teams, getting ready to play what Gerard guessed was ultimate frisbee (there were orange field cones on the grass, and one of the other counselors was holding a bright blue disc in her hands). Mikey didn’t look too busy yet, so Gerard pulled him aside and hurriedly filled him in on the nature of tomorrow’s day off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds fun,” Mikey said. “Gabe rules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, please. C’mon,” he begged Mikey to focus, “you have to come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey glanced over Gerard’s shoulder. A look of general disapproval spread across his face, and then he scrawled something down on his clipboard. “I can’t, man,” he said, “it’s too late now, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard groaned. “Can’t you just switch out with Ray, dude?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Mikey said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I have plans, Gerard,” he said, and Gerard knew that was codeword for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alicia. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard sighed, wishing Mikey would stop being so selfish. “But I’m not gonna fucking know anyone there, man,” Gerard said, hands in his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey stared at him flatly. “You know Ray, Nat, and Frank, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but —” Mikey was right, but that wasn’t the point of concern. How could his brother be so fucking obtuse? Wasn’t it obvious? “— goddammit, Mikey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey huffed and put his clipboard down, rolling his eyes. “What, Gee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I get drunk and do something stupid? Something I regret?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something like telling Frank how much being around him fucks you up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, but kept his lips sealed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you’ll be like literally everyone else here,” Mikey deadpanned. “And how am I supposed to stop you from doing that, anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard had a few ideas. “You could —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Gee," Mikey cut in. "You’re gonna get drunk, and you’re gonna have a great time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you won’t —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll be the same as the boathouse,” Mikey went on, “probably better, actually.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It won’t be, because you won’t be there,” Gerard finally said, batting his lashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey sighed, not looking as flattered as Gerard had hoped he would. “C’mon, man,” Mikey said, “you’ve been to parties without me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Gerard reminded him, thinking about his twenty-minute foray into normal college life. “And it wasn’t any fucking fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey pierced right through the bullshit. “Is this about Frank?” He inquired, one hand on his hip; eyes narrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard went rigid. It was so much easier to wallow in the fear than it was to confront it. “No,” he lied, postulating with his head held high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, Gee,” Mikey groaned, “what happened now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard ignored him. “Why aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> freaking out, huh?” Gerard asked, dropping his cool facade. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t want this to happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey wrinkled his brow. “Want </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> to happen?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. “Your speech? Two days ago? Remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, c’mon, Gee. Is that seriously what you got from that conversation? All I did was tell you what I thought about Frank, ” Mikey said, scowling at him. “It’s your call now, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That anger was creeping up again, growing more and more frustrated with Mikey’s flippancy. “My</span>
  <em>
    <span> call </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that I want you to come with me,” Gerard bulled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know, if you’re so worried about it,” Mikey said, his delivery almost as dry as the look on his face, “you could just not fucking go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard scoffed. Mikey held his clipboard close to his chest, and stared firmly at Gerard. </span>
  <span>“I told you I have plans," Mikey said, "so maybe you could respect that, and not drag me into your shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Drag you into my shit?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard repeated, creasing his forehead. He could feel something building behind his brow, something tangled and angry and hurt. “I’m asking for your help and you’re saying I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dragging you</span>
  </em>
  <span> —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough, Gerard!” Mikey snapped, keeping his voice tight and quiet as he glared. “I really don’t want to deal with this shit, man. There are kids around, okay? Figure it out.” </span>
  <span>Mikey turned his eyes back to his clipboard, and Gerard felt like smacking the cheap thing to the fucking ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Gerard said through gritted teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey didn’t look at him. Instead, he kept scribbling. “Leave me alone, Gerard. I have work to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scritch-scratch of Mikey’s pen on that stupid fucking cardboard thing was like a drill against Gerard’s skull. It screamed inside his head, cracking through layers of bone and marrow to reveal the evil, wrinkled, bruised pink matter of his brain; breaking the barrier between it and his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>work </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude?” Gerard jabbed, laughing. Mikey was looking at him now, tight lipped and tense. “You think you’re actually doing something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Supervising the kids </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>something, dickhead,” Mikey spat, clutching his clipboard tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard chuckled and gestured to Mikey’s clipboard and pen. "Does that shit make you feel important or something? Like you’re not just a glorified babysitter?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey held his ground, but his voice trembled as he spoke. “Just because I don’t teach Art or something doesn’t mean I’m not as imp—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Before you’re a camp counselor — before you’re someone’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>— you’re my</span>
  <em>
    <span> brother,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gerard said, the ball of iron in his forehead burning hotter and hotter, “or did you forget that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re acting like a fucking after-school special right now,” Mikey said, his tone careful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard felt bitterness on his tongue, and spat it at Mikey. “And <em>you’re</em> acting like a selfish little brat."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"<em>F</em></span>
  <em>
    <span>uck you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Gerard," Mikey gritted, pointing one boney finger at Gerard’s chest. "Get the fuck out of my face," he warned, "and go do your fucking job.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard watched with burning eyes as Mikey pointed towards the Art Shed, and before Gerard could lunge forward and snap Mikey's finger back until it broke, he was gone; walking back to his stupid little game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And suddenly, Gerard couldn’t wait to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p><span>In the shower later that evening, it occurred to Gerard that maybe </span><em><span>he’d </span></em><span>been the one in the wrong; that maybe it’d been him who was being selfish, not Mikey. Maybe it wasn’t right for him to rely</span> <span>on Mikey like that. Maybe he’d relied on him too much. Maybe he’d gotten too angry. Maybe he’d said too much.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, fuck that,” Gerard said aloud, squirting shampoo into his palm. “The kid’s an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrubbed his scalp until it became sudsy, and cried out when his eyes began to sting. A string of curses left his lips as he cleansed his face under the hot, metallic water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought as the burning ceased, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s about fucking time I had a day off.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>unfortunately dickhead!gerard is very fun to write; i hope he wasn't too painful for you all to read.<br/>author's note: the way i chaptered this work was sort of by day/place in time, so every chapter is a new day or new week. i hope that's working for you all, and not too confusing! next chapter's a fun one, so stay tuned! peace luv n rock n roll</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gerard looked at the dumb grin on Frank’s face and wondered what the fuck he’d been so scared of. This was fucking great; he was away from all the rules, the terrible dining hall food, the schedule, the responsibility, the cocky little brothers — but what was making it better was that he was away from it all with Frank.<br/>-----<br/>it's friday, which means it's gerard's day off, which means they're going to gabe saporta's house party, which means they're gonna have a blast — maybe. sorta. kinda. idk, you just gotta read the chapter.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HEED THE EXPLICIT WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT!!! References to sex, drugs, alcohol, etc. CW for mentions of vomiting.<br/>-----<br/>this is a longer chapter, so buckle up!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gerard drove away from camp without apologizing to his brother. He might’ve had the brains to feel bad about it if he hadn't had iced coffee in his cupholder, air conditioning blowing in his face, and Frank in his passenger seat. </p><p>“Hold this?” Frank said, handing Gerard his cigarette. </p><p>Gerard took it between his fingers, and snuck a puff, watching the trees on the side of the highway blur past. As he rested his lips where Frank’s had, he thought about that poem he read in high school, the one about the couple who got bit by the same flea. <em> And this, alas, is more than we would do…  </em></p><p>“You’re gonna love this one, Gee,” Frank said as he pushed one of the CDs from his backpack into Gerard’s radio. </p><p>Gerard had his eyes on the road like the good, responsible driver he was, but he could still see the devilish grin on Frank’s face as he twisted the volume knob up. <em> God, </em>he thought to himself, this was so much better than hanging out at camp with a bunch of screaming kids and his idiot brother. He grinned like Frank was. “I bet I will,” he said.</p><p>“Mhm. Get ready to go 90 in a 60, baby,” Frank said as he plucked his cigarette out of Gerard’s hold. With his free hand, Frank shut off the air conditioner and reached across the car to press down on the master window controls under Gerard’s arm. </p><p>Frank’s arm pressing across his chest did something stupid to his heart, and then hot, fresh air was rushing in, just as the drums did, and then Gerard felt his heart go wild: the drums were followed by a screaming guitar riff that ripped across the sonic landscape, charging back and forth like it was battling with the angry drums. Some mad dude began shouting over it all, and Gerard found himself headbanging and laughing. He looked over and saw Frank doing the same, miming the guitar parts with his fingers.</p><p>“What is this, dude?!” Gerard screamed over the tunes, his blood pumping in his ears.</p><p>“It’s fucking d-beat punk, bro!” Frank yelled back, a wide smile on his beautiful face. “Get with it!”</p><p>“Fuck yeah!” Gerard laughed. He drummed his fingers atop the steering wheel, not caring if he was on beat or not. The music was fucking sick; it was fast and hard, and it made him envision all kinds of crazy shit, like death and destruction and monster trucks and undead revolutionaries fighting against some corrupt fantasy government. He hadn’t felt inspired like this in weeks, maybe even months. Fuck SVA, he was gonna drop out and freelance — that thought and the others before it had made him grin like crazy; he told all of them to Frank as he sat in the passenger seat, arranging a cigarette for him.</p><p>“Nah, man!” Frank said as he passed Gerard his smoke, “you gotta keep going to art school! Who am I gonna post up with when my band comes to New York for tour?”</p><p>“You have a band?” Gerard asked as he smoked and merged into the faster, emptier lane.</p><p>“Not yet,” Frank said, “but when I do, we’re coming to New York City, and we’re staying with you.”</p><p>“I live in a dorm, man!” Gerard laughed as the nicotine head rush hit. He was keeping his eyes on traffic, his ears on Frank’s voice.</p><p>“For fucking now,” Frank chirped, “when you’re a famous artist —”</p><p>“I don’t know about all that —"</p><p>“— shut up, loser,” Frank cut him off, giggling, “when you’re a famous artist, you’ll have a sick-ass loft in Brooklyn or some shit, and it'll be near all these venues and bars and delis and all of our friends will be able to fit in it, and we'll have giant sleepovers...” </p><p>Gerard had always imagined himself living on the Lower East side in a modest studio or railway apartment (maybe somewhere near the F Train on East Broadway so he could get to Penn Station faster) because, y'know, that's what seemed realistic — but fuck that. Realism had never made his heart sing like this. He held a smile as Frank carried on, planning his fantastic life for him.</p><p>“...and you’ll know all these people, because you’re so well-connected from art school, of course,” Frank made it sound like it was already a fucking fact, “so we’ll go to all the best parties, the best shows, the best everything.”</p><p>That all sounded fucking awesome, but “how do you figure in all of this?” Gerard wanted to know, chancing a glance at Frank. He had his busted Vans planted on the seat like they’d been rooted there for years, his scraped-up knees folded underneath his inked forearm, and his hair flapping wildly in the wind. He was smiling, he was serene, he was summer, and he shined like the very sun. He tapped his ashes out the window, and turned to Gerard. </p><p>Frank's eyes were alight. He smiled, “I’m your main man, of course."</p><p>Gerard rubbed his lips together, fighting back the insane grin twitching behind his mouth. <em>I'm your main man — </em>Frank had said that like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like Gerard was insane for not already knowing it. “Yeah,” was all he could say, a small smirk breaking through his facade.</p><p>“But anyway,” Frank said a second later, “you gotta draw that war scene, man! I’ll make it the cover for my first album!”</p><p>Frank didn’t even have a band, and yet, he was already talking about his first album. Gerard wished he could be like that; a person who was so fucking sure of themselves, so confident and so fiery and so fucking <em> free. </em>Gerard let that insane grin out, because fuck it, and pressed his foot on the gas. </p><p>“Better pay me good, motherfucker!” He said to Frank, grinning as his speedometer ticked up to 85 and his back pinned against the seat.</p><p>Frank leaned across the center console, his crooked teeth displayed in a silly smile. “I’m not gonna pay you shit if you keep smoking all my cigarettes!”</p><p>Gerard looked at the dumb grin on Frank’s face and wondered what the fuck he’d been so scared of. This was fucking great; he was away from all the rules, the terrible dining hall food, the schedule, the responsibility, the cocky little brothers — but what was making it better was that he was away from it all with Frank. Frank, who’d chosen not to ride in Ray Toro’s more spacious and way less junky car. Frank, who’d let Gerard steal as many cigarettes as he wanted. Frank, who’d insisted on paying for their coffee that afternoon. Frank, who wanted to be his main man.</p><p>Gerard didn't care if that “didn’t mean anything”, <em> Mikey. </em> Because <em> a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.  </em></p><p>“Hey!” Frank shouted, pointing wildly across Gerard’s chest. “Look!”</p><p>Gerard looked out his window to find Ray’s Subaru edging up beside them. Nat was hanging out the passenger window, her blonde hair flowing behind her. Gerard didn’t realize she was giving them the middle finger until Frank stuck his tongue out and thrust his middle finger in her direction too, right before Ray stepped on the gas and Nat added her other middle finger to the party.</p><p>“Motherfuckers,” Frank laughed as the Subaru surpassed them.</p><p>“Motherfuckers indeed,” Gerard replied.</p><p>***</p><p>Frank lived in a cozy one story ranch house that was, in the best way, nothing like the McMansions they’d driven past on their way out of Warren territory. Gerard hated those architectural monstrosities, and so did Frank — he let Gerard know that as he dug through his drawers, searching for “something sick” to wear. </p><p>“So yeah, I mean, it’s a little small over here,” Frank said, pausing between words to cough out the bong rip he’d just taken, “but it’s way better than living in one of those soulless shitholes.”</p><p>“It’s really nice,” Gerard said as he took another sip from the can of beer in his hand. Frank’s house <em> was </em> nice, because it was Frank’s. “Thanks for letting us stay here.” </p><p>“You’re welcome,” said Frank, tossing reject t-shirts over his shoulder, “consider it an advance on me living in your fancy New York loft.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Gerard laughed, leaning back on Frank’s bed. Gerard could hear Ray and Nat down the hall, laughing and occasionally going silent to (Gerard guessed) kiss one another with the freedom they weren’t allowed at Camp. The thought made Gerard happy and sad at the same time: <em> good for Ray, shitty reminder for me.  </em></p><p>Just then, Frank slammed his t-shirt drawer shut. The noise snapped Gerard out of his thoughts and back to Frank, just a second before he turned around and stumbled over the pile of shirts at his feet. </p><p>“You okay?” Gerard asked, giggling as Frank got all flustered. Gerard tipped more beer down his throat.</p><p>“I have nothing to wear,” Frank whined, kicking at the sad lump of unchosen clothes. A red t-shirt got tangled on his foot and flopped out of the pile, landing near Gerard’s socked feet.</p><p>“Seems like fate wants you to wear this one,” Gerard suggested, nudging the shirt with his toe. The shirt was turned inside out, but some of the design bled through from the other side. It looked like scribbles, and not much else.</p><p>Frank looked down at the shirt and smiled. “Aw, that old thing?” He said, padding over to it. He plopped down next to Gerard, the creak of the bed subtle, and picked the shirt up. Frank turned it right-side out with a smile that made Gerard feel like he was watching him open a Christmas present, or greet a dearly missed friend — and Gerard understood that, understood what Frank was feeling. </p><p>Frank was sentimental. His room was like Gerard’s basement back in Jersey: full of personal memorabilia and nostalgic shit that, to anyone else, would look like total trash. On Frank’s dresser, there was an old radio whose crooked antenna and Bruce Springsteen sticker told Gerard it was at least a couple decades old, and had belonged to his dad. Frank’s bedroom walls were covered in photos of family and friends (Gerard recognized a few faces from Camp), posters of old rockstars (he’d swooned a little at his choices: Bowie, Joan Jett, Iggy Pop, Henry Rollins, Prince), and ticket stubs from concerts, movies, and fairs. There were also a few empty pill bottles in a box by the radio, and Gerard might’ve thought that was weird had his mom not been the kind of lady who used those same bottles to store bobby pins and q-tips and his and Mikey’s baby teeth. </p><p>Frank held the shirt up to the light, and Gerard refocused to read the text across it. <em>“Homophobia is gay,” </em>he read aloud, the words leaving his lips before his brain had the time to register them, and then a second later, his synapses snapped.</p><p>It didn’t <em>have</em> to mean anything; it could just mean Frank was like, really supportive of human rights or something, but — and maybe this was just the beer thinking? — judging by how Frank was beaming, Gerard was starting to think (hope, pray, wish) that maybe wasn’t the case. </p><p>“Oh,” Gerard said, finally bringing his eyes to Frank’s. The sun was setting in the window behind him, the horizon shimmering through the trees like his eyes through his lashes. “That’s a pretty cool shirt, Frankie,” Gerard said.</p><p>“Thanks,” Frank smiled, tossing the shirt back into the pile. </p><p>Gerard knew his face was on fire, but he could blame that on the booze if he had to. Sometimes his cheeks got rosy when he drank. “What does it mean?” <em> to you, </em>he wanted to know.</p><p>“It means <em> homophobia is gay,</em>” Frank reiterated, in that same obvious tone as before. “I made it in like, sophomore year when I started dating Adam —”</p><p>“So you’re bisexual?” Gerard cut in, maybe a little too sharply. Frank kind of glared at him in response, but Gerard just sipped at his beer innocently, waiting for an answer.</p><p>Frank leaned back to give Gerard a better stink-eye. “Do you always interrupt people in the middle of their coming out stories?” </p><p>Gerard thought about it for a second. “Yes,” he ended up saying, because it made him laugh, and also because he couldn’t think straight anymore. Gerard didn’t give a fuck what his asshole little brother said — this whole fucking thing <em>did </em> mean something, and if Gerard could get the words out of his stupid beer-soaked mouth, maybe it could even mean he had a chance. “I’m gay,” he said after a small burp, “so let’s call it even.”</p><p>Frank laughed, his cheeks getting almost as pink as the whites of his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about, Gee?”</p><p>“I’m gay,” Gerard said, more sternly this time because it seemed like Frank wasn’t getting it. “Like,” he stared at Frank, whose eyes were wide, “into dudes.”</p><p>Without asking, Frank reached forward and grabbed the can from Gerard’s hand. “I’ll get you another one,” he said before finishing the whole thing in a few glugs. Gerard laughed; he didn’t give a flying fuck about the beer, he’d probably give his last meal to Frank if he asked nicely enough. </p><p>Frank crushed the can and tossed it as his dresser. “Okay, so I’m bisexual and you’re a gay spotlight-stealer,” Frank said, gazing half-lidded and smiley at Gerard. “But that still doesn’t solve my problem.”</p><p>“What problem?” Gerard giggled.</p><p>Frank hopped up from the bed, and looked over his shoulder at Gerard. “Of not having something to wear, of course.”</p><p>Gerard grinned. Frank was the coolest.</p><p>***</p><p>Several outfit changes and two six-packs later, the gang was out the door and on their way to Gabe’s. Ray wore all black, and Nat had his <em> Master of Puppets </em>t-shirt on like a dress; she was pulling it down over her back and laughing as Ray carried her fireman-style up yet another steep hill. Frank had said that Gabe’s house was “one chill walk away”, but to Frank, “one chill walk” meant a mile through the suburbs, half a mile through shopping center backlots, and another mile uphill. Gerard’s mouth tasted too much like whiskey to notice the way his knees ached.</p><p>Gerard was watching Frank rise up the grassy hill, watching his legs carry him up to the night sky. Frank melted in with it, the crewneck he’d stolen from his dad’s closet only a shade lighter than the deep indigo above. His black hair blended into the tall shadowed trees, the skin on the back of his neck and ears stark against it all. Warmth swirled behind his ribs as he studied the curve of Frank’s body, the hug of his jeans around his hips.</p><p>“Nice jeans,” he said to Frank’s behind as they walked up the hill. </p><p>“Nice hoodie,” Frank responded, walking backwards now so he could wiggle his eyebrows at Gerard. “Can’t wait ‘til I have my own.”</p><p>It might’ve been just a trick of the light or the booze, but Gerard swore he saw Frank wink. The pounding of his heart told him that’s what’d happened, anyway. “I’m working on it,” he answered.</p><p>“Good,” Frank smirked. He turned his back, and kept walking up the hill. </p><p><em> The view could be worse, </em>Gerard thought as he shoved his hands in his pockets. </p><p>***</p><p>The chilly evening wind blew, carrying the sounds of muffled music and drunken voices. Gerard took another swig from the whiskey they’d swiped from Frank’s dad’s cabinet, and stared up at the house (no, <em> palace </em>) that turned out to be Gabe Saporta’s home. </p><p>From the large, circular driveway, Gerard counted three floors, four chimney stacks, fifteen windows, three water features, and two hedge animals. The tall, arched windows gave Gerard a sneak peek of the party inside: on the lower level, he saw colorful lights and bodies moving against one another. On the top floors, he saw empty rooms and silhouettes intertwining behind drawn curtains, the sight of them warming his blood. He smiled.</p><p>“McMansion without the Mc,” Frank stated, smirking as he blew a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.</p><p>Gerard swallowed another ounce of booze. “No kidding,” he said. The whiskey had lost its edge a long time ago, now it just tasted sweet on his tongue.</p><p>“Nervous?” Frank checked in, whispering.</p><p>All Gerard could feel was swirls and warmth and the tingles Frank’s face was giving him. “Nope,” Gerard smirked. He tipped the bottle back, but before he could get any more liquor past his lips, Nat swooped in.</p><p>“Save your appetite, dude,” she smiled, prying the bottle from Gerard’s limp fingers. She passed it off to Ray, and laughed as he glugged it down to the label.</p><p>Gerard just put his hands in his pockets and smiled loosely at Nat. Back at Frank’s, she and Ray had taken like, a full hour in the bathroom, but it had totally paid off. She looked really pretty, her hair was done in two neat braids and her lips were glossy. Her eyelids were dark and shimmery, twinkling when she blinked.</p><p>“You look really pretty, Nat,” he slurred.</p><p>“Aw, Gerard! Thank you!” Nat beamed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m well aware.”</p><p>“Yeah, I am too,” Ray said, passing the bottle to Nat. He wrapped his arm around Nat’s shoulders and gave Gerard a glare that said <em> don’t even think about it, buddy. </em></p><p>Gerard wasn’t<em> that </em>drunk, but Ray was, and Gerard felt like he wasn’t messing around. “Hey man,” Gerard said as he put his hands up in defense.</p><p>Ray grinned at him, and then gave Nat’s shoulders a squeeze. She glared at him, and Gerard felt the heat of her anger.</p><p>“Let’s go inside,” Frank said, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground. He smiled at the group and said, “I think we all need to blow off some steam,” before marching up to the house. </p><p>***</p><p>Inside, people were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, ass-to-ass, groin-to-groin. Chemistry and love and sensuality and freedom buzzed in the air, bringing a wide smile to Gerard’s face. It was hard not to feel happy when everyone around him was laughing and grinning, wrapping their arms around one another, pressing their hips and lips together. There were so many people. Beautiful, drunk, happy people. So many faces, bodies, stories, and ideas to get lost in. </p><p>Across the faces and bodies of those beautiful people danced flecks of colored light, pinks and red and greens and blues; they were like jewel-toned fireflies, floating over everything. Gerard followed them; his eyes went upwards and above him, he he found an elaborate chandelier whose plain bulbs had been switched out for the rotating party kind. Underneath the chandelier was a double staircase, and on the level at the top of the stairs, there were two massive speakers and —</p><p>“Is that a fucking DJ?!” Gerard yelled, looking up at the dude standing at the gear-ridden table between the speakers. He was wearing huge headphones, and an even bigger Red Sox jersey.</p><p>“Fuck yeah, it is!” Frank screamed back.</p><p>The bass creeped up Gerard’s legs, waking his muscles into something that resembled dancing. Frank was far more graceful; his shoulders and hips rolled, exuding rhythm as the two of them weaved through grinding couples and shot-taking cliques. Almost everyone they brushed past greeted Frank, dapping him up and calling him nicknames. </p><p>“Frank!” Said one dude in a backwards cap.</p><p>A group of girls waved. “Hey, Frankie.”</p><p>Someone clapped him on the back and grinned. “Yo, Iero! What’s up, my man?!” </p><p>Frank returned everyone’s greetings with enthusiasm. He waved back, blew kisses, clasped his hands around theirs, smiled and made eye contact — he was being a fucking gentleman, and Gerard noticed with a smirk on his face.</p><p>Gerard wrapped his hand around Frank’s bicep. “You’re so popular!” He said into Frank’s ear, smiling against it.</p><p>Frank turned his head a little, just enough so that Gerard could see the quirk of his brow and slope of his nose. “Jealous?” He quipped.</p><p>“No,” Gerard giggled. His chest felt heavy, and then his heart jumped because he realized Frank was leaning back into his touch, <em> into him </em>. His chest pounded in time to the music. “Not in the fucking slightest."</p><p>Frank rolled his eyes, wrapped his hand around Gerard’s arm, and began pulling him faster towards the —</p><p>
  <em>Kitchen.</em>
</p><p>Ray and Nat had disappeared however many dozens of minutes ago, and Frank and Gerard were smart enough to not go looking for them. Neither of them were sure if they were fucking or fighting, but either way, they’d both agreed it would be way more fun to just sit in the kitchen and get fucked up. They were people-watching: all around them, party-goers were filling their cups, stealing silverware, exchanging goods for cash, or rifling through Gabe’s fridge for a snack. </p><p>Frank was swinging his legs off the kitchen island, puffing on a joint. Gerard had his elbows braced over the lip of the island, the cold of the marble refreshing against his back. As he sipped from his red cup, he looked at the people around him. Something about the glow of red party lights just made everyone look so ethereal, so otherworldly — but there was only one person who was extraterrestrial, and he was right by his side.</p><p>When Gerard looked up at him, Frank was smiling too; colored in shades of crimson, his washed red. He looked like he was made of passion and hellfire, and Gerard wanted to get closer to the flame.</p><p>“Hey,” Frank said in a low voice, smoke falling from his lips.</p><p>Gerard batted his lashes. “Hey,” he said back.</p><p>Frank smirked, and turned his attention back to his joint. Gerard’s skin prickled as he watched Frank shake his head and smile at the floor in <em>that way </em>(the way Daniel used to when he’d come over and find Gerard already in that outfit he liked so much). Gerard hid his satisfied grin behind the rim of his cup, swallowing more bubbly, saccharine liquid.</p><p>Frank looked up, his eyes wide as he shouted, “Gabe!” </p><p>Gerard flicked his eyes up. <em> Gabe Saporta. </em> He was sauntering forwards like royalty, wearing shutter shades, white jeans, and a gold lamé windbreaker with purple accents. It was a hard look to pull off, but Gabe was dong it. Fucking bold.</p><p>“Frankie!” Gabe said as he embraced Frank. Frank wrapped his arms and legs around Gabe, clinging to him like vines of ivy. “Gabe, Gabe, Gabe,” Frank hummed, rubbing his hands up and down Gabe’s back.</p><p>Gabe wriggled out of Frank’s grip, and patted Frank’s grinning face. “Glad to see you, buddy.”</p><p>“You too,” Frank said, leaning into the touch.</p><p>Gerard felt jealousy creeping across his face, but then he remembered his dickweed brother’s words about Frank being a touchy-feely guy, and he grinned the envy away. Frank could hug Gabe Saporta all he wanted, as long as it was Gerard who made him shake his head and smile at the floor.</p><p>“Who’s your friend?” Gabe asked, gesturing to Gerard. </p><p>Frank perked up, and beamed at Gerard. “Oh, this is Gerard! Gabe, Gerard,” Frank introduced them, “Gerard, Gabe.”</p><p>Gerard waved. “Hey,” he smiled.</p><p>“Oh shit!<em> Gerard?! </em>” Gabe exclaimed, taking off his shades to reveal a handsome face. “You’re Gerard! Mikey’s brother!”</p><p>His ears rang at the sound of his brother’s name. “Yes I am!” Gerard said, keeping his tone light, “and you’re Gabe Saporta!”</p><p>“Indeed!” Gabe boasted. “Did they tell you the stories?”</p><p>“Yes,” Frank answered, shoulders shaking as he laughed through another cough. </p><p>“I would have shit my fucking pants if I had been there, man,” Gerard said, “I’m so scared of that fucking lake.”</p><p>“You’re scared of the lake?” Frank asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said, brushing his hair from his face. “Kinda.”</p><p>Frank raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that,” he said.</p><p>“That’s ‘cuz I never told you,” he grinned, cockily tilting his head back.</p><p>“Well, we’ll have to change that,” Frank smirked.</p><p><em> We, </em>Gerard thought, smiling into his cup as Frank’s eyes lit fires across the skin of his exposed neck. Gerard had missed being looked at like this, like he was something to be savored; something precious.</p><p>Gabe spoke. “Oh, Frankie —”</p><p>Frank’s eyes burned on Gerard a little while longer before they had to turn back to Gabe.</p><p>“Yeah?” Frank asked, passing Gabe the joint.</p><p>Gabe blew an impressive O with his exhale. “I didn’t invite Mia,” said Gabe, “and Worm will kick her out if she shows up. So you can party worry-free tonight, my dude.”</p><p>Frank’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you, Gabe Saporta!”</p><p>Seeing Frank be that excited his ex wasn’t around only made Gerard feel hotter. “Who’s Worm?” He wanted to know, “that’s a crazy name for a person.”</p><p>Gabe explained that Worm was their friend, and also the unofficial bouncer/general tough guy on call for all events and soirees. Gerard’s memory of Worm was fuzzy, but he did recall a guy at the front door with sunglasses and big arms. He’d also greeted Frank with a high-five, and <em> fuck, </em> Gerard swooned, Frank was so cool. <em>And</em> hot. At the same time. <em>Insane.</em></p><p>“Adam’s here, though,” Gabe said, taking another hit. “But you guys are good, right?” He coughed. “Last time I checked…?”  </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank nodded, a little grin on his face. “Way good.”</p><p>“Uh oh,” Gabe laughed. “I know that smile.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Frank said, plucking the joint back from Gabe. </p><p>Gerard wasn’t in the right mindset for mathematics, but he could still put two and two together like a motherfucker. He arrived at a sum total of <em>fuck; </em>and with that, all the heat and warmth from before froze over. He tried to hide his disappointment in his drink, taking in another mouthful as his head began to swim. His mind was running a confusing marathon of jealousy, arousal, desire, yearning, and drunkenness. Gerard finished off the shit in his cup, and tossed it in the sink behind Frank.</p><p>“You okay, Gerard?” Gabe checked in.</p><p>“Mm,” Gerard hummed, shutting his eyes as he ran both his hands through his hair. He was warm again, but not from Frank. “I’m so okay, man. I just wanna dance.” Gerard felt a whoosh of air, and heard Frank’s feet hit the floor.</p><p>“Fuck yeah, you do," Frank said.</p><p>Electricity shot Gerard's eyes open as Frank grabbed his hand. Gabe was gone, and Frank was close; his hand in Gerard’s, their shoulders touching, their liquor and smoke infused breaths mixing together. Gerard laughed, thinking <em> I wonder if our mouths are a fire hazard. </em>Frank laughed at his laugh, and Gerard’s heart fluttered. Frank was so pretty.</p><p>“C’mon,” Frank squeezed Gerard’s hand, “let’s fucking dance.”</p><p>***</p><p>The whole fucking place was a dance floor, but the epicenter of it was the foyer. That’s where the DJ was, after all.</p><p>Even in his drunken stupor, Gerard was awkward; swaying back and forth, bobbing his head each time the bass thumped. Frank was pretty good, though — he had said something about “letting the music flow through you” before he started rolling his hips and shoulders in time to the beat — and Gerard was content to just stand there and watch him, but Frank had a better idea.</p><p>“Don’t be weird,” Frank yelled over the tunes, sticking his hand out. “Dance with me.”</p><p>As Gerard took his hand, the song switched. Unlike the “raging” songs before it, this one grooved — the hundreds of people around them stopped their erratic bouncing; they began moving slower, more carefully — and the beat pulsed, like the blood running warm in Gerard’s veins as Frank spun into him. As their bodies met, the crowd closed in around them. In the past, the multitudes of people would have frightened Gerard, but all he could focus on now was keeping Frank close.</p><p>“I don’t know how to dance,” Gerard said, swaying as he held Frank against his chest. </p><p>Frank wrapped his hand around Gerard’s wrist, and smiled back at him. “Just follow me, Ginger.”</p><p>Gerard laughed. “Ginger?”</p><p>“Ginger Rogers,” Frank said, “Fred Astaire’s dance partner?”</p><p>“Oh,” Gerard said. He’d heard his grandma talk about that dude Fred before; he was hot shit back in the day. He smiled. “I got you.”</p><p>Frank laughed. “Like this,” he said, and then rolled his body once against Gerard’s.</p><p>At the pressure, Gerard felt a wave of heat break through him. He pushed his hips against Frank without much thought, and as the space between them thinned, Gerard’s self-discipline went along with it. </p><p>“Like this?” He said into Frank’s ear, his voice low and soft. </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank breathed, tightening his grip on Gerard’s wrist. “Like that.”</p><p>As the song played on, Gerard followed Frank’s careful rhythm, meeting each of his rolls back with a gentle rock forward. Each move from Frank was like a question, each move from Gerard its answer. </p><p>The swift brush of Frank’s thumb against the inside of his wrist sent a shiver through Gerard’s arm, down his spine, and then out through his waist in a push. Frank responded by grinding back harder, and though Gerard felt like his soul was leaving his body, he didn’t dare lose their rhythm. </p><p>“You can dance,” Frank said a second later as he rested his head back on Gerard’s chest. </p><p>Frank’s hair tickled goosebumps on Gerard’s skin. His heart was pounding in his ears now, thicker and louder than the music. “Yeah,” he breathed, “I just needed some guidance.”</p><p>“I’ll guide you,” Frank brought one arm up and wrapped his hand around the back of Gerard’s neck, pulling him down a little, “for as long as you need me to.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Gerard hissed under his breath. Frank’s fingers were in his hair again. With the added glow from the booze, it felt even better than before, like his skin was opening up and swallowing Frank’s fingers. Frank’s fingers rubbed at the back of his head, and Gerard looked down to find Frank there, looking just like a dream. Swatches of light were passing over his face, coloring his features in swirling shades of pink and green and red and blue. His eyes were shut, his lower lip held between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth (<em> because of me </em> , Gerard went warm), and <em> yes, </em> Gerard felt so in his chest, <em> this is all real. So very fucking real. </em>He tightened his grip on Frank’s hand, and kept dancing with him.</p><p>“Having fun?” Frank asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard buzzed, pressing his cheek against Frank’s temple. Frank’s skin was sticky with sweat, hot against his own. Gerard wondered if the rest of him felt like that, too. </p><p>Frank leaned into the touch. “Me too.”</p><p>Sparks flew and Gerard let his hands fall around Frank’s waist, his hips soft under his palms. “This okay?” He asked, murmuring into Frank’s ear.</p><p>“Mhm,” Frank hummed, putting his hands — warm, just like Gerard had hoped they’d be — over Gerard’s as he rolled against him again. </p><p>Gerard’s breath got lost in his lungs as the pressure ripped through him, and then he felt Frank’s hands slip into the back pockets of his jeans. Gerard buried his face in Frank’s hair, breathing heavily as he rubbed against him. He could smell the green apple shampoo he’d seen in Frank’s bathroom, the cigarettes they’d shared on the walk over, the salt from his skin. </p><p>“Frank,” Gerard groaned into his hair. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>He breathed. “Frank, I wanna kiss —”</p><p>Frank pulled his hands out of Gerard’s back pockets and pushed away from him, leaving Gerard’s hands empty and cold. Gerard didn’t have time to whine about it, because a second later, Frank’s chest was against his and his hands were on his ass again. Gerard hissed at the closeness, eyes shutting as he instinctively wrapped his hands around Frank’s back. He pulled him in closer until their foreheads were touching; skin against skin, sweat against sweat. His mind was far too alcohol-soaked to notice that he was semi-hard; all he noticed now was the way Frank moved against him.</p><p>“What were you gonna say?” Frank asked as Gerard ran his hands up his back, his fingers splayed on his shoulder blades.</p><p>On the screen of his shut eyes, Gerard saw his and Frank’s bodies against a galactic expanse; their arms and legs intertwined like ropes of DNA, natural and singular. The edges of their bodies were fuzzy; blending into the darkness around them. Stars twinkled around their outlines. Splashes of pink and green and red blue space-matter swirled over their skin. A supernova grew behind them as their lips drew closer and closer.</p><p>Gerard kept his eyes closed — he didn’t want to see, he only wanted to feel — but he could tell Frank was smiling from the way his breath broke against his lips. </p><p>“Can we kiss?” Gerard said.</p><p>The wisps of breath ceased as Frank pressed his soft lips to Gerard’s.</p><p>Gerard saw the supernova as an explosion of white light behind his eyes. He felt it as a prickling heat that spread across his whole body, and rippled out from his chest all the way down to his toes. He heard it as the thumping of his heart, rhythmic like music. He tasted it as the salt from Frank’s skin, the smoke from his cigarettes, the sweetness from his whiskey; and it was a gorgeous flavor, because it was Frank’s.</p><p>Gerard kissed him deeply, keeping one hand grounded between his shoulder blades while he used the other to brush Frank’s hair behind his ear. One of Frank’s hands stayed around his ass, the other was pressed to his chest, clenching at the fabric of his hoodie as they leaned into one another.</p><p>They stayed that way for a few beats until Gerard pulled away. When he opened his eyes, Frank’s were right in front of his, distorted into one by their closeness. “You have one eye,” he giggled.</p><p>“So do you,” Frank chuckled back.  </p><p>Gerard looked down to see Frank’s lips curled into a smile, a sight that sent a hot shock down his spine. “I’m on fire,” he said aloud, drunk with it as he ran his thumb along Frank’s cheekbone. His skin was soft and warm, alive and fucking exhilarating.</p><p>“Me too,” Frank chuckled, giving his ass a squeeze. </p><p>Gerard’s stomach tightened at that. He was about to say something corny again, but then his stomach jolted, and something burned hot and tight up his esophagus, itching at his throat. He winced and gripped Frank’s hips (he thought maybe too hard, but Frank didn’t seem to mind), steadying himself against the wave of pain that crashed into his gut a second later. Gerard didn't know which realization hit him first: that he needed to vomit, or that his dick was aching against the zipper of his jeans and Frank didn’t seem at all bothered by it. </p><p>Gerard’s body flushed hot with sickness and embarrassment — or maybe it was excitement? It was hard to tell the difference between the two — as he tilted his head upwards, like a diver coming up for air. He looked around and his eyes popped in and out of focus, faces and lights all swirling together in an awful, nauseating funhouse illusion. </p><p>Frank, none the wiser, wrapped his arms around Gerard’s neck, which brought Gerard’s attention right back to him. Gerard forced a smile and kept his hands on Frank’s hips, fearful that if he moved an inch in the wrong direction, Frank would be wearing the contents of his stomach. Frank smiled, and pressed himself against Gerard again. Gerard let out a pathetic mewl, feeling his whole body ache. There were too many things happening inside of him, and he wasn’t sure which one was going to ruin him first.</p><p>“I like this,” Frank said just then, his chin angled up at Gerard.</p><p>“I like this too,” Gerard struggled, squeezing Frank’s hips. He couldn’t help himself. “So, <em> so </em> much, Frank…”</p><p>“Do you wanna go upstairs?” Frank said, tucking Gerard’s hair behind his ear. </p><p>Gerard wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he almost said yes anyway. His skin was tingling, and Frank’s eyes were glittering, his cheeks were flushed, and his lip was hanging low, lonely and kissable. Gerard couldn’t refuse him when he looked like that, but he also couldn’t refuse the bile creeping up his throat, or the cramps that were flashing hot and angry across his stomach. </p><p>Gerard took his hands off Frank’s waist and slipped out of his embrace, frowning as they became two separate people again. Gerard stumbled back and bumped into someone behind him, which made him fumble forwards again, and as he faltered to stand upright, his stomach flipped over. Frank was there in front of him, standing wide-eyed and alone. He looked hurt and confused, and now they were both standing still, the only people no longer moving to the beat. </p><p>“I h-have to go,” Gerard stammered.</p><p>“Okay.” Frank stepped back with his hands up, a neutral and resigned expression on his face, “it’s okay, Gee. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Gerard wanted to say something, wanted to tell Frank that he’d come back for him, that he didn’t have to be sorry for anything, but then he tasted the ghost of red-cup-mystery-liquid in his mouth, and realized he was running out of time. Gerard gave Frank one last desperate look before he stepped to the side and rushed into the surrounding crowd, cutting through the rows and rows of people that stood between him and the nearest receptacle. </p><p>And for the first time since they’d met, he hoped Frank wouldn’t follow him.</p><p>***</p><p>Gerard had never thrown up into a toilet with a monogrammed bathmat beneath it, but that small luxury hadn’t elevated his experience. His mouth still tasted like sour milk, his nose still burned from the bile that had passed through it, and his head still ached from retching until his stomach emptied. </p><p>He steadied himself against the marble vanity top, and chanced a look in the mirror. </p><p>“Jesus H. Fuck,” he said. </p><p>The filigree mirror in front of him reflected a ghost with stringy hair, hanging like willow branches around his pale face. His lips were chapped, and his nose red raw. The skin around his stained eyes was puffy and pink, and he knew he’d cried, but he couldn’t remember what or who about. He switched the water on and washed his hands first, then his face. After he’d dried his face on an incredibly soft towel, he reached for the door handle.</p><p>The lights in the hall were low, dim and colorful, like the ones in the foyer. Gerard thought about Frank again, about how pretty he’d look under those lights, how good it’d felt to have held him so close. </p><p>To <em> kiss him. </em></p><p>Gerard’s heart fluttered and he walked to the pace of it, thinking <em> maybe he’s still out there, still out there waiting for me </em>.</p><p>Hope, careless and wild, got his feet moving. But the air was like rough water, resisting each of his steps, knocking him around each time he moved. His body was heavy, and he paused to balance himself against the wall.</p><p>“Fuck,” he breathed, shutting his eyes just for a moment. </p><p>When he came to, he saw Lindsey’s face. He might’ve been surprised to see her too, had it not seemed like the entire state of Massachusetts was at this fucking party. He blinked once before she slapped his cheek <em> hard. </em></p><p>“Ow!” He shouted, bringing his hand up to his face as it rang with pain. He glared at her. “What the fuck, Lindsey?!”</p><p>“You’re awake!” Lindsey exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Sorry for slapping you.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Gerard grimaced. The hallway light was too bright, it stung his eyes like the static on his cheek. “Where’s Frank?” He bit out.</p><p>Lindsey sat back on her knees, making a puzzled expression. “Which one is Frank again?” She asked.</p><p>“The one with the stupid hair and the lip ring. Pete’s co-counselor. Hazel eyes,” Gerard reported, watching Lindsey’s face change as she put the pieces together.</p><p>“Is he wearing a purple sweater tonight?”</p><p>Gerard nodded.</p><p>“Black jeans?”</p><p>Gerard smiled at the image of Frank in those jeans. “Yeah.”</p><p>“We saw him in the crowd a little while ago,” someone to his left answered. She had long baby pink hair, and neon eye makeup. Her knit cardigan was oversized, the sleeves drooping around her hands — one of which held a water bottle, dripping with condensation. She looked like a fairy, and Gerard thought maybe he was hallucinating. </p><p>“He was dancing with some people,” she went on. "Like, <em>really</em> dancing."</p><p>Gerard frowned at the cheeky look on her face. <em> Of fucking course,  </em>he thought.</p><p>“Here,” Pink Hair smiled, tossing the bottle into his lap. </p><p>The bottle nailed Gerard right in the balls, and then he knew she hadn’t been a hallucination. “Oh my god,” he grunted, falling sideways onto the hallway carpet. He rubbed his face on its rough surface, cupping his crotch and whining, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”  </p><p>“Shit! I’m so sorry!” He heard Pink Hair say, and then a scuffle as she joined him and Lindsey on the floor. </p><p>“Nice one, Stella,” Lindsey said.</p><p>“Goddammit,” she sighed. “Is he okay…?” </p><p>“You guys can go away now,” Gerard said, eyes still shut as he cradled his junk from the fetal position. His stomach tore at itself again, and now dizzy sparks of white and purple pain were exploding behind his eyes. “Just fucking leave me here to die. Please,” he begged, “it would be a mercy.”</p><p>Lindsey kicked the bottom of his foot. “Get up, loser.” </p><p>“Linds, c’mon. Be nice,” Stella pleaded. </p><p>“You just hit him in the fucking balls, babe!” Lindsey laughed, “niceties are out the window!”</p><p>Gerard felt someone’s hand wrap around his; he opened his eyes just before the world spun, and Lindsey was pulling him up to his feet. He stumbled a little (and his body still ached like a motherfucker), but once he got upright, he was surprised to find he could keep both feet flat on the ground.</p><p>“Gerard, this is my girlfriend, Stella,” Lindsey said, gesturing to Stella. </p><p>“Hey,” Gerard waved, still holding his dick. </p><p>“Hey,” she said. “I’m really sorry about your balls.”</p><p>Gerard laughed. “Me fucking too, man.”</p><p>Lindsey thrust the open water bottle towards him, and commanded him to drink. He removed his hand from his crotch and took a large sip. The water ran through him like a cold shock, waking him up and making every organ in his body scream. “Can we go outside or something?” Gerard said through a thick glug.</p><p>“For sure,” Lindsey said, placing a hand on Gerard’s back.</p><p>On their way up towards the top of Gabe’s mansion, Gerard checked his phone and frowned as he realized that the shitty little thing was dead. When he asked, Lindsey informed him that it was close to 1:45am. Gerard wasn’t sure what time he’d skipped away from Frank, but he knew that he’d been gone long enough to make shit awkward. It was better to stay with Lindsey and Stella, anyway — he didn’t want to embarrass himself any further, nor did he want to interrupt whatever it was Frank had gotten up to since they’d parted ways. The gnawing, annoying gremlin in Gerard’s brain was reminding him that Frank was out there with someone else (<em> Adam. Remember him, Gerard?) </em>now, and that Gerard also had no right to be upset by that, because he and Frank weren’t even together.</p><p><em> At least our one kiss was transcendent or whatever, </em> he thought as he scuffed his feet along Gabe’s fancy carpet.</p><p>***</p><p>The lounge furniture by the rooftop swimming pool was unoccupied. The water was still, bright and radiating a soft blue that cast the place in shadows, shadows that Gerard was happy to sink into. As they sat down, Gerard tossed his empty plastic bottle into a nearby potted plant. It flopped off a wide leaf, and clattered to the pavement by the water’s edge.</p><p>“Hey man,” Stella said as Lindsey draped her arm over her shoulders, “littering.”</p><p>Gerard folded his arms behind his head and laid back on the soft couch. “Don’t care,” he said, turning his gaze up to the sky. It was such a clear night that Gerard thought he could see the arc of the earth, right there in the slight curvature of the stars. There were so many of them, and so few of him.</p><p>“What’s up, man?” Lindsey said, waving a lit cigarette in his face. </p><p>Gerard ignored her question. He took the cigarette, and sucked in before coughing hard. “Menthols!?” He croaked, glaring at Lindsey.</p><p>“It’ll help your puke breath,” Lindsey said as she puffed a cloud of minty smoke towards his face. </p><p>“So,” Stella said, “are you gonna tell us what happened?” </p><p>Gerard took another drag. “You saw,” he said, feeling the starlight prickle at his skin. “I puked too much and then I passed out.”</p><p>“You’re staring longingly at the sky, bro,” Stella observed. “Something fucking happened.”</p><p>“And you can tell us, Gerard,” Lindsey offered, “but only if you want to. No pressure.”</p><p>Gerard sighed as he watched an airplane pass overhead. It was far away and noiseless; just a couple of blinking red lights careening across the sky. He thought about the people behind those lights, all the passengers. How many of them hated flying? How many of them were leaving home? How many were going home? How many were missing someone? How many?</p><p>Something inside him broke; a small burst behind his ribs, like a tiny supernova.</p><p>“I was with someone<em> , </em>” Gerard started, heavy as the words came out. “Someone I think I really like, even though I haven’t known them that long.”</p><p>“Man,” Stella sighed.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said, rubbing his eye as those airplane lights twinkled out of his line of sight. “They’re just…they just make me feel some type of way, y’know? I can’t explain it.”</p><p>“Totally,” Lindsey said.</p><p>Gerard knew she understood. “Yeah. And we’ve had a lot of like, almost-moments. Like, moments where I thought something was going to happen, and then nothing did,” he explained, “but tonight we did have one, like, a real moment.”</p><p>Lindsey and Stella hummed in understanding, and Gerard felt the weight slip away.</p><p>“It was so nice, too. It was small, but like, better than anything I ever experienced before,” he said — Frank was hot like the sun, bright like the moon, and eclipsed Daniel with the power of both — "but then the booze hit me, and I felt like I was gonna throw up, so I had to run away. Otherwise I was gonna puke all over us.”</p><p>“Aw fuck, man,” Stella whined. “That sucks.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard concurred. "So I yakked."</p><p>“And then you passed out?” Stella asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard answered. “And I don’t really know how long ago that was, so I probably look like an asshole now.”</p><p>“That sucks,” Lindsey said. “I’m sorry, dude.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Stella said. “Do you wanna go find them, though? We can help.”</p><p>Gerard thought about it. His body had been through a lot, his mouth tasted like shit, and Frank was dancing with other people. He’d moved on, like he always did: in the short time Gerard had known him, Frank had been with Mia, probably someone random between her and Jen, and then Jen for a little while, and then maybe they broke up and Frank went back to Adam? Or maybe Jen and Frank weren’t actually broken up at all — or maybe her and Adam happened at the same time? Or maybe Adam had been happening the <em>whole</em> time and Mia and Jen knew about it and just didn't care, but now Gerard was in that mix, and he did fucking care. He cared a lot, so much so that it made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.</p><p>“No,” Gerard decided, ignoring the pain in his chest. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“Okay,” Lindsey said, softly. </p><p>“I feel like that was divine intervention,” he went on, looking over at the two of them. Stella was curled against Lindsey’s chest, her knees up. Lindsey had one arm over Stella’s shoulders, the other around her legs. Stella passed her the cigarette they were sharing, and Lindsey thanked her with a kiss on the nose. He wished he could feel happiness for them, instead of the jealousy that ate at his brain. “Like,” Gerard exhaled, trying not to cry, “it's like God just fucking put me back in my place, or something.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” Lindsey cooed, tapping out ashes onto the ground. “God doesn’t care about you enough to do that.”</p><p>Gerard laughed. “Yeah, clearly fucking not.”</p><p>“Okay, but like, forreal,” Lindsey chuckled, waving her hand in the air, “there’s always a second chance, man. Always.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Stella added, smiling at Lindsey. “Sometimes, there’s even a third.”</p><p>Lindsey grinned and stroked her fingers on the curve of Stella’s neck, smiling as she hummed at her touch. “Yeah,” Lindsey said,” it took us a few times to get it right.”</p><p>Gerard smiled weakly at the couple. “Yeah,” was all he said.</p><p>Lindsey passed the cigarette back to Stella, and turned to Gerard. “Look,” she said sternly, “don’t be mopey, okay? You’ll see them again, and you’ll have your redemption and everything.”</p><p>“Oh, I <em> know </em> I’ll see him again,” Gerard laughed, “that’s kind of the problem.” It didn’t occur to Gerard until after the words left his lips that he’d used any gender-specific pronouns, but it didn’t matter anymore. About one hundred and fifteen people had seen him and Frank, and he figured the cat was probably out of the closet by now. Whatever. He dragged his hands down his face, cigarette dangling between his lips. “I’m just so fucking embarrassed…”</p><p>“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Lindsey said. “It’s not your fault you can’t handle your liquor."</p><p>Gerard groaned. It wasn’t about just that; it was about the boner, it was about Mikey (<em> oh god, Mikey) </em> , and it was about thinking that Frank could actually <em>be </em>something. Gerard wished he could peel back his skin, pick his brain out of his skull, and toss it into the chlorine to get purified.</p><p>“If he was as fucked up as you were,” Stella hoped, “he might forget it ever happened in the first place.” </p><p>Gerard puffed a cloud of smoke towards the sky. “I don’t care what he remembers.”</p><p>“Alright, Gee,” Lindsey said, “alright.”</p><p>***</p><p>They’d gone through a whole pack of cigarettes before they made their way down from the pool.</p><p>The first floor of Gabe’s house was a labyrinth of opulent hallways, all Persian rugs and gilded wallpaper; golden sconces and dishes of potpourri. Gerard inhaled the floral scent as he walked, grateful he no longer felt like he was battling a vicious undertow every time he moved. He still felt a hollowness inside, but he could live with that. He’d lived with it before.</p><p>As they turned the corner that brought them to the hall behind the foyer, the din of the party returned to Gerard’s ears, and winced at the sound. Stella hopped happily from one foot to the other, and began pulling Lindsey towards the party — but Lindsey planted her feet on the ground, and looked over her shoulder at Gerard. Stella dropped her hand and rolled her eyes in frustration.</p><p>“Coming?” Lindsey asked. </p><p>“Nah,” Gerard said.</p><p>Lindsey frowned. “You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. He wrung his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, a garment whose vomit and menthol scent burned his nostrils. “I’m really tired, man. I think I’m just gonna head out.”</p><p>Lindsey nodded, a weak yet understanding smile on her face. She took Stella’s hand again. “Get home safe, dude,” she said. </p><p>Gerard saw Stella squeeze her hand, and felt his heart do the same. “I will,” he nodded.</p><p>“Text me when you get there,” Lindsey added.</p><p>“‘Kay,” Gerard said, his voice small in his throat. </p><p>Lindsey gave one last smile before Stella dropped her hand and sprinted away. </p><p>“C’mon, Linds!” Stella shouted, “last one there has to clean the strap!”</p><p>“Oh, you <em> bitch, </em>” Lindsey yelled, grinning at her perkier other half. “Gerard,” she sighed, looking at him with her thumb pointed in Stella’s direction, “I gotta —”</p><p>“Go, dude,” Gerard said, waving his hand. </p><p>Lindsey bowed her head in thanks, and ran after Stella. The two of them were all flailing limbs and giggles, blush and butterflies. Gerard dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand, clenching his jaw tighter until they disappeared from his line of sight.</p><p>He trudged towards the fire exit to his left — it had a glowing neon sign above it; was this a home or a fucking movie theatre? — and shouldered his way out into the darkness. He shivered as the night air came rushing towards him, cold and quiet. As he walked around the back of Gabe’s mansion, he checked his re-charged phone (<em> thanks, Lindsey </em>), and frowned as he saw several missed texts from Ray:</p><p>12:37am: <em> GErard,.. Srz 4 being adick b4 abt NAt i was jealpus I’m sory </em></p><p>12:42: <em> R u mad at me </em></p><p>1:20am: <em> G wya bro </em></p><p>2:39am: <em> R u w Frnk </em></p><p>3:57am: <em> Hi it’s Nat I sobered up and I’m taking Ray back to Frank’s. He’s sorry and says he loves you </em></p><p>3:59am: <em> Idk where Frank is but I’m leaving his door unlocked. C u later m8 </em></p><p><em> Fuck, </em> Gerard thought, his legs aching as he hobbled down the hill, <em> I hope Frank’s not dead — </em>and as he came to even ground, his brain-gremlin popped in for a visit.</p><p>
  <em> Frank’s not dead, Gerard. He’s probably in one of Gabe’s bedrooms, getting his world rocked by someone who isn’t you. It could be a girl, could be a guy, could be someone who’s neither or someone in between. Maybe it’s two someones. Maybe even three. Maybe it’s Adam. You know how he is, Gerard. You were just a stop on his way to the next — </em>
</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard said out loud, his voice trembling. He used the back of his disgusting sleeve to wipe the tears that were blossoming from his eyes, its fabric growing wet against his cold skin. Gerard sniffled as he continued scrolling through his phone, the sound of his feet scratching against the suburban concrete mixing in with the <em> click click </em> of his finger on the keypad. He stopped in his tracks.</p><p>
  <em> One Missed Call from: Mikey. </em>
</p><p>"Oh, fuck me," he mumbled, wiping his eyes. His face was raw against his sleeve, the fabric saturated with snot and tears. He sobbed into the wet cloth, thinking about what an asshole he’d been to his little brother. He’d been too drunk and too Frank-fixated to ruminate before, but now he was sober, cold, and alone. Now he had no excuses. Now all he could think about was how poisonous his words had been, how they’d marred Mikey’s face into a visage neither of them recognized, and how his tongue had salivated at all that pure, unfiltered anger.</p><p>He hadn’t known he had it in him.</p><p><em> “I love you Mikey” </em>was all Gerard was able to text before his eyes became too cloudy to see out of, his hands too shaky to press keys, and his mind too mangled to focus on anything but what a terrible person he was. He shoved his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie, and began making his way back towards Frank’s house. He wouldn’t be saying the night.</p><p>***</p><p>When Gerard had stepped inside Frank’s house to get his things, he’d seen Ray and Nat sleeping on the pull put couch. They had fallen asleep in the most adorable way possible, face-to-face. Nat’s slender hand was wrapped around Ray’s bicep, his hand on her face, his thumb resting just over the high point of her cheekbone.</p><p>Gerard felt sick as he imagined the sweet nothings they’d exchanged before they fell asleep, the kisses and cuddles that had rocked them into unconsciousness. He felt terribly lonely, and incredibly stupid.</p><p>He didn’t see Frank’s shoes by the door, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t inside. He could have stumbled into his room and gone to sleep with all his clothes on — but Gerard wasn’t staying to find out. </p><p>He grabbed his overnight bag from inside the hall, and headed back towards his car.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i promise not every chapter of this fic ends with heartache!!!! this one had to, though. sorry.<br/>next chapter will be out soon :) thanks for all the love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, breaking his and Mikey's silence. <br/>Mikey shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “You should be,” he said.<br/>Gerard deserved his flippancy, but it still stung. “I know,” he exhaled.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is one half of today's special double update!!! enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the sound of the morning bugle cracking around in his head, Gerard opened his eyes. He saw the strand board above him, the sunny basketball court through the large panel of mesh to his right — he shivered as a gust of wind rolled through it and across his bare chest — and then the face of Ben, who was practically dangling off the edge of his top bunk to peer down into Gerard’s.</p><p>“Gerard!” He exclaimed, his glasses falling halfway to his chin.</p><p>Gerard sat up slowly, minding the dull ache in his stomach. “Hey, little dude,” he croaked.</p><p>Ben smiled, and then flopped back up to his bunk to announce, “Gerard’s here!” The boys of 8A cheered, and Gerard’s ears rang a little, but <em> fuck </em>, did his heart sing.</p><p>“I’m here, I’m here,” Gerard laughed, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes. His head rejoiced at the pressure, and he didn’t stop rubbing his eyes until static fuzzed behind his lids and he felt spinny. When he opened his eyes again, Mikey was at the foot of his bed. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were puffy. </p><p>“Hey,” he said, congested.</p><p>Gerard’s heart broke. “Hey,” he whispered back. Just as the words left Gerard’s lips, Mikey lunged across the bed and ambushed Gerard into a bear hug. Gerard hugged him back even tighter, not caring how it made his ribs hurt.</p><p>***</p><p>Gerard rolled up the sleeves of his yellow staff shirt, and let the sunlight light kiss his pale shoulders. Ahead of him, the 8A boys were all giggles and mosquito bites and uneven suntans, nothing but a dust cloud of excited chatter about what would be for breakfast that day. Gerard smiled, feeling bright as he basked in their youth.</p><p>Mikey, however, was a psychic drain. Gerard frowned. His brother was a wilting beanstalk masquerading as a young man. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his black denim shorts, his arms bent inwards at the weight of his shoulders. His lips were tight and straight, and not much had come out of them since Gerard’s arrival in the morning. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, breaking their silence. </p><p>Mikey shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “You should be,” he said.</p><p>Gerard deserved his flippancy, but it still stung. “I know,” he exhaled.</p><p>Mikey shook his head and sighed, pointing his nose upwards at the treetops as he spoke. “You made me feel so shitty, Gerard. You talked to me like what I do here means nothing, like as if you’re fucking better than me, or something.”</p><p>“I know,” was all he could say. The wounds from the night before were reopening, wet and stinging. “I’m sorry, Mikey,” he said.</p><p>“I know I don’t do the stuff you and Ray and Frank do —”</p><p>Gerard sighed at Frank’s name. “Mikey,” he whined.</p><p>“— but I’m still important, man,” Mikey spoke. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to say all that stuff to me when you knew it’d be me watching the kids when you left. Like, as if that wouldn’t,” he huffed, shaking his head as he tried to find his words, “as if that wasn’t going to like, directly benefit you, you massive cunt.”</p><p>Gerard felt the blow, thick and hard against the inside of his chest. “Yeah,” he said again.</p><p>“I was so mad at you, Gee. Like, it’s been forever since I got that pissed,” he said, “but you were being so selfish, and just so fucking <em> mean </em>, dude. Like, that was insane, the way you blew up at me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard breathed. He knew it was true, but damn, his little heart could only take so much. It panged at Mikey’s words. “I’m sorry,” he said.</p><p>Mikey looked down at him then. He had a deadpan expression on his face, but there was a twitch in his brow that told Gerard he needed to hear a little more than another “I’m sorry”. </p><p>“Do you think I ask too much of you?” Gerard said, peeking at his brother.</p><p>Mikey raised his eyebrow. “You’re not seriously asking me that right now, are you?”</p><p>“Then I guess I do,” Gerard said, looking down at his feet. He kicked one of the rocks under his feet, and frowned as it crumpled into dust.</p><p>“I want to be there for you, Gee,” Mikey said. “I always will. But you have to be there for me, too.”</p><p>Gerard nodded as he watched his and Mikey’s feet move in tandem along the dirt. </p><p>“Like, you haven’t asked me about <em> my </em>life in days,” Mikey went on, his voice growing stronger as he spoke, “maybe even weeks. And that’s just not cool, man.”</p><p>Gerard perked up, forcing a smile at his glaring little brother. “Well —”</p><p>“Don’t start right now because I just told you that, okay?” Mikey said, laughing.</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard backpedalled, his cheeks flushing hot.</p><p>“But, y’know,” Mikey started, “it’s probably also my fault for not speaking up enough.”</p><p>Gerard stared at Mikey. “Well, I should have the decency to ask my little brother about his life.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I should also have the agency to speak about it without you asking me,” Mikey said. He seemed nervous, like he’d practiced this conversation in the mirror before, and it wasn’t coming out like he’d hoped. “Like,” he mumbled, “I shouldn’t have to wait for you to tell me it’s okay to talk.”</p><p>Gerard wasn’t sure what he was feeling inside right now, but it felt a lot like being punched in the gut. A hollow feeling swallowed him and he couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so instead, he wrapped his arms around Mikey’s shoulders and hugged him as they continued to walk. Mikey’s skin was warm, he smelled like Old Spice deodorant, and Gerard felt like he was home.</p><p>“I’m sorry we’re so fucked up,” Gerard said. Mikey hooked his hands over Gerard’s forearms, the both of them laughing as they hobbled down the path like some weird chimera monster.</p><p>“Blame it on Mom and Dad,” said Mikey.</p><p>Gerard laughed, and then grew serious again. “Mikey, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder, “I’m really sorry about how I spoke to you, how I treated you, all of that shit. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be a better brother.”</p><p>“You better, motherfucker,” Mikey mumbled back, pushing Gerard off him with a playful smirk.</p><p>Gerard gave him one last smile before turning his face back towards the shining sun.</p><p>***</p><p>While Mikey complained about how terrible the camp coffee was, Gerard’s eyes fell to the wall clock above the fireplace at the end of the dining hall. He smiled as he realized that he was still on his day off, and <em> maybe, </em> he thought, <em> I can still make some good use of this bullshit-ass day. </em></p><p>Gerard took another drag from his cigarette, and glanced at the goodies in his passenger seat: M&amp;Ms (for Ben and Alex), gummy worms (Julian), BBQ potato chips (Nick), MAD magazine (Marco), baseball cards (Dylan), and for Dante, a new pair of socks. In his cupholder were two 24oz iced coffees with cream and sugar; a bag of cinnamon sugar donuts balanced between them. A blue Lexus pulled up beside him, slowly nosing between the Camry and the Chevrolet in front of it. Instead of losing his shit and going all Jersey on the motherfucker, Gerard just looked at the driver, smiled, and waved them in as the light changed green. He was feeling pretty good — until he turned the radio on, and Frank’s “d-beat punk” CD began playing.</p><p>He switched off the radio instantly. </p><p>As he glared at the radio, his arms stiffened. His whole body went tight, aching with the memory of how Frank had felt against it. Gerard clenched his jaw. The cherry from his cigarette shook out and landed on his bare knee. It hit his skin like a hot kiss, a sting from a bee; and then the air smelled like singed leg hair as Gerard hissed and swatted the burning ash away.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” he groaned as he came to another red light, this time at the mouth of a roundabout. He watched the cars swirl past him, their circular, endless movements making him feel sick. A car horn beeped behind him, and when he looked up, the light had changed green. He stared at it for a second, and then the motherfucker beeped <em>again.</em></p><p>“Oh, blow it your ass, dickbreath,” he grumbled as he put his turn signal on.</p><p>They beeped a third time, and Gerard felt his throat and chest get hot. He rolled down his window and gave the driver his proudest middle finger; holding it up as he pulled into the roundabout. He didn’t put it down until he was on the road back to Camp.</p><p>***</p><p>Gerard returned to the cabin to find Ray fast asleep with his hands clasped over his stomach. He wondered if Frank had caught up with Ray, if he’d told him what’d happened, blah fucking blah — <em> it doesn’t matter, </em> he thought as he dropped the goodies by the door. He put Mikey’s coffee in front of the electric fan clipped to his nightstand, the donuts on his bed, and then retired to his own bunk. </p><p>After taking a couple gorgeous sips of his too-sweet coffee, Gerard pulled it away from his lips to just appreciate it. He grinned at the beads of condensation that fell around his fingers, the ice cubes that rustled when he spun his straw around in the cup, the way the caffeine made his mind buzz. He took another sip, and smiled as the cool liquid soothed his acid-torn throat. It was the little things.</p><p><em> Bzz, </em>his left asscheek vibrated.</p><p>Gerard took another sip of coffee and dug his phone out of his back pocket. He hadn’t checked it all day, though he’d felt it buzz a few times. He flipped it open without much thought.</p><p>
  <em> 3 New Messages from: Frank </em>
</p><p><em> 9:54am: </em>Hey G </p><p><em> 9:56am: </em>R u alive?</p><p><em> 1:45pm: </em>Can we talk</p><p>“Aw fuck,” Gerard said out loud, setting his coffee down on his trunk. He brought his condensation-glossed hand up to his head, sighing with some relief as it unraveled some of the tension forming behind his eyes.</p><p><em>“We need to talk”</em> was definitely the most anxiety inducing message a person could receive, but “<em>can</em> we talk” was a different animal. The difference between <em>we need to talk </em>and <em>can we talk </em>was the difference between homicide and a suicide attempt: one was an attack, the other a cry for help; an invitation to a circus of self-flagellation and vulnerability — and Gerard didn’t feel like going to that particular circus today.</p><p>He snapped his phone shut, and shoved it into one of the shoes under his bed. He’d deal with it later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for all the love! next chapter will be up, like, immediately.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So, it’s been a few days,” Gerard said.<br/>“It has,” Frank confirmed, nodding slowly.<br/>“How are you?” Gerard asked. <br/>“Um, not good?” Frank said, scratching at his head like he was unsure. <br/>-----<br/>THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT! Additional CW for injuries/blood.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>2/2 of today's special double update!! i'm feeling good today, and didn't wanna keep you guys waiting hehehe</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three days had passed, and Gerard’s phone was still in its hiding place. Mikey had been frustrated; he’d tried to call Gerard to tell him about his and Alicia’s day off (later, Gerard learned they went to some sick punk show in Boston and had sex in the venue bathroom, <em> disgusting </em>), and to make matters worse, Donna had called the camp’s Main Office.</p>
<p>“I didn’t go missing, Mom,” Gerard said into the receiver, giving Debbie the Receptionist a glance that said <em> thank you for dealing with my crazy Mother. </em> Debbie smiled back and waved her hand — <em> no problem, sweetheart </em>— and returned to whatever document she was filling out. </p>
<p>“I just hid my phone under my bed, and I forgot it was there,” he explained.</p>
<p>“Well, don’t forget again,” Donna said. “I thought you were dead.”</p>
<p>Gerard heard a pause on her end, and then an exhale. He knew she was smoking, and some mother-son telepathy bullshit had him craving his own cigarette too, but he didn’t think he’d be able to catch a smoke break today. The call with Mom was already cutting into his Art Shed shift break, and besides that, the Gods had decided to piss all over Camp Warren. The rain was coming down really fucking hard; it smacked against the roof of the small wooden office, somehow louder than the air conditioner (a machine about as raucous as a fucking monster truck rally and as frigid as east coast winters), and Gerard couldn’t imagine he’d have any luck finding a dry place to have a cig. He shivered in his wet, musty hoodie, and stared tight-lipped at the trees blowing in the rough wind.</p>
<p>Donna reeled his attention back in. “Gerard? You there, baby?” </p>
<p>“Sorry,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was getting tired of saying that word. “I’ll charge my phone tonight. Promise.”</p>
<p>“You better,” she exhaled, “and call your father.”</p>
<p>“I will,” he lied. </p>
<p>“Alright, baby,” Donna said, “I gotta get back to work now. But be in touch, okay?”</p>
<p>Gerard lifted his hood up over his head, preparing to head back into the flood. “Yeah, Mom,” he said. </p>
<p>“Love you.”</p>
<p>Gerard said it back, waited for his mom to hang up, and then handed the phone back to Debbie.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The sky above him was a dark, angry gray; the color of stone and slate. Water poured down on him, soaking through his already wet hoodie to the fabric of his t-shirt. He walked back towards the art shed, his shoes squishing as he passed by the little frog pond next to Craig’s house. The pond was brimming with rainwater, so filled it was nearly spilling over.</p>
<p>Ahead, the Rec Center doors were drawn closed. </p>
<p>“Good,” Gerard said to the rain. </p>
<p>Gerard was no longer worried about people knowing what’d happened with Frank. He hadn’t heard any rumors, received any weird looks, nor had he been wink-wink-nudge-nudged by Mikey or any of their other friends — and actually, he felt kind of stupid for thinking people would care at all. They weren’t in fucking high school anymore, nobody gave a shit about who was kissing who, on or off the dance floor. Especially when everyone in the vicinity of said kiss was nine times drunker than its culprits, and also way too worried about their boners to notice Gerard’s. So people <em>knowing  </em>wasn't the problem: the problem was that Gerard and Frank were avoiding each other, and people were starting to notice. </p>
<p>The Almighty Schedule was a good cover-up for their lapse in communication — they were both busy; Gerard and the other Art Shed folks were designing new plaques for the dining hall, meanwhile Frank and Ray were teaching the music kids about chord changes — but The Schedule couldn’t explain the stolen glances in the dining hall, Gerard’s opposition to charging his phone, or Frank’s marked depression in mood that had Ray biting his nails at night.</p>
<p>Mikey, the motherfucker, knew something was up. He’d put Gerard in the hot seat the other night when he pointed out that Gerard hadn’t touched his sketchbook in days, that his chin was breaking out, and that though it was <em>typical Gerard</em> to not want to come to a social gathering, his refusal of the twins’ offer to play Dungeons and Dragons in the abandoned shack behind the tennis court was highly suspect. It’d been a while since “The Gang” had gotten together, too — so of course Gerard had wanted to go, but not if Frank was going to be there. So he'd just said he was “tired”, and added that maybe he’d “caught some mystery illness” at Gabe’s party. Mikey had agreed that was possible, but rolled his eyes anyway. He lingered in the doorway before heading out to the shack, and made a face. Gerard sighed, and promised he’d go to the infirmary if he started to feel worse.</p>
<p>Well, now he was feeling worse. He was cold, his clothes were waterlogged, and he felt incredibly slow, like there were stones in his pockets dragging him down to the muck.</p>
<p>The world around him was all windswept and wet, disheveled and unkempt. Loose leaves were twirling in circles on the ground. The weathervane on top of Craig’s house was spinning erratically, the rough wind carrying its eerie metallic creaks throughout the campgrounds. The dirt paths around him were quickly turning into mud traps — quicksand, like in <em> Looney Tunes </em> or <em> Scooby Doo </em> — and the rain just wouldn’t stop. It just kept pouring down and down and down and down, heavy and unrelenting. </p>
<p>Gerard felt like he was underwater. He could feel the pressure of the current against his skin, sticking his clothing to him. Each time he raised a leg to walk forward, the ground held his foot down, freezing it between layers of mud and grass and sediment and worms. He looked down at his legs and saw lakeweed snaking around his ankles, slimy against his skin. There were leeches suckling at his calves, he could feel the blood leaving his body, draining him of life. Suddenly, his stomach seized, and his chest became impossibly tight. Breath escaped him; water poured in front of his eyes, slipping down the length of his hair and falling against his trembling lips. He couldn’t scream, and then his eyes spilled over with tears.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Gerard couldn’t remember walking to the infirmary, but when he showed up without injury, covered in mud, and asymptomatic for any physical illness, Brian hadn’t asked any questions. Instead, he’d used his walkie-talkie to let one of the Art Shed co-counselors know where Gerard was; then he gave him a stress ball to hold so his shoulders would stop shaking, and then he mixed him up a mug of Swiss-Miss with the shitty little marshmallows in it. He let Gerard finish the hot cocoa, and then directed him towards the back room with the wrap around windows and spare beds. </p>
<p>Gerard was laying down now, warm and safe in one of the infirmary beds, turning the browning pages of Sally Dupont’s 1954 romance novel <em> The Seaglass Heart. </em> It was just him, the nurses, the storm outside, and the ancient reading material in his hands. He was cozy, wrapped up in some blankets and the dry, oversized, <em>perfect</em> Camp Warren merchandise that Georgie had supplied for him. His other clothes were draped over the radiator, hopefully drying and not festering. </p>
<p>Someone knocked on the door casing, and Gerard turned towards it.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Brian poked his head in. His voice was soft on Gerard’s ears, barely louder than the rain.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Gerard said back, smiling half-heartedly as he sunk deeper into the pillows.</p>
<p>Brian tapped his fingers along on the wall and cast a wistful glance out the window. Gerard watched Brian’s face brighten as lightning struck. The sudden blast startled Brian and he breathed in and out to calm himself down, but Gerard didn't feel so affected. All he felt was the buzz of his mind as he waited for Brian to speak.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Brian asked, his pierced eyebrow quirked up.</p>
<p>Gerard folded the book down over his index finger. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me hang out here.” He was aware that his voice sounded flat, maybe devoid of emotion, but he knew Brian would understand he’d meant it.</p>
<p>“No problem,” Brian said, glancing over his shoulder. “Um,” he looked back at Gerard, “you’re gonna need to hang out here a little longer, though. Tornado warning’s in effect for the next hour and a half.”</p>
<p>“Aw, man,” Gerard sighed. He looked out at the tree branches flying in the air, and then back at Brian. “Should I go be with the kids? Mikey?”</p>
<p>“Isn’t Ray with him?” Brian asked.</p>
<p>“No,” Gerard said, noticing Brian’s face fall. “He’s probably getting the Rec Center crew somewhere safe.”</p>
<p>Brian shook his head. “I still can’t let you go, man. The wind’s rough, and you might get hurt if you go out there.”</p>
<p>Gerard pursed his lips. “Hmm,” he hummed, unconvinced.</p>
<p>“You’ll only take a flying branch to the face and have to come right back,” Brian reminded him.</p>
<p>Gerard supposed Brian was right. The wind was fierce; tiny funnels of air were running along the ground by the flagpole, picking up debris and loose branches as they twirled. Small, wind-blown whitecaps were forming on the lake’s surface. The boats by the shore were rocking wildly, neighboring masts crossing over one another like dueling swords. Gerard felt reassured, seeing the lake in its most destructive state. He breathed deeply.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he said to Brian, noticing the slant of Brian’s lips. He seemed worried.</p>
<p>“It’s safe here,” Brian went on, gesturing to the windows that surrounded them. “They’re hurricane glass, like the windows in the bathhouses.”</p>
<p>“Is that where everyone's going right now?” Gerard wanted to know.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Brian answered. “They’re sturdy. And this place is sturdy, too,” he added, “Marie’s been here twenty years and says it hasn’t come down yet.”</p>
<p>Gerard nodded. Staying here would be alright. He wasn’t sure he was in the right headspace to sit on the floor of the bathhouse with the whole Junior unit, anyway. He hoped Mikey was okay, and that the kids weren’t freaking out too bad. “Cool,” was all he said to Brian.</p>
<p>“Just keep chilling,” Brian said, the words easing the wrinkles on his forehead. “It’ll be over soon, ‘kay?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gerard nodded.</p>
<p>“Holler if you need me, dude.”</p>
<p>“Will do.” </p>
<p>Brian knocked twice on the door casing before smiling and disappearing back into the nurse’s quarters. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Tommy was just about to ask Jenny out to the boardwalk carnival when the infirmary door slammed open, causing Gerard to jump and lose his grip on <em> The Seaglass Heart. </em> The novel clattered to the floor, and a second later, there was a loud crash as something — no <em> someone </em>, fell. </p>
<p>Gerard heard a helpless yelp and sat up on the bed, peering out the window into the receiving room behind him. The CPR poster tacked to the wall had fallen down, the paint behind it stained with four red streaks. Brian and the other nurses rushed in from their quarters, all furrowed brows and frowns as they dipped below Gerard’s line of sight. Georgie and Marie rushed to get supplies from the medicine cabinet, and then Brian came up with his back to Gerard. There was someone else draped over his shoulders, someone with black hair and a soaked-through purple sweater. Gerard’s stomach dropped. </p>
<p>Frank.</p>
<p>Quickly, Gerard flopped back down onto the bed and pulled the Camp Warren hoodie over his face. His heart rate was steady, his breathing even and calm as he strategized. Through the windows, he could hear the wind picking up and trees smacking against one another. He recalled Brian’s warning, and decided he’d have to stay inside. He heard squeaking footsteps coming, so he turned over and pretended to be asleep — nobody ever bothered sleeping people, especially the ones in the infirmary — he shut his eyes tight, and listened to the conversation unfold behind him.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” Frank asked, his voice tight. He sounded like he was in pain.</p>
<p>“Lay down, baby,” Georgie cooed.</p>
<p>There was some rustling, and then a loud hiss from Frank as one of the nearby bed frames creaked.</p>
<p>“Gerard,” Brian answered, and then there was a pause. “Looks like he’s sleeping, though.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” Frank groaned. “Is he okay?”</p>
<p><em> I fucking was, </em>Gerard thought to himself, though Frank’s concern did warm his heart just a little.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s okay,” Brian said.</p>
<p>“Brian, I don’t —”</p>
<p>“You have to stay, Frank,” Brian calmed him. “Marie, can you get some gauze?”</p>
<p>“On it,” she said.</p>
<p>Brian’s voice. “What happened, man?”</p>
<p>“Well, I was with Ray, fucking —”</p>
<p>“Language, sweetheart,” Georgie warned. </p>
<p>There was the crack of a breaking seal, and the stench of rubbing alcohol hit Gerard’s nostrils, sharp and stinging.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” said Frank, and then resumed his story, “I was with Ray, and we were taking the music kids to the Senior bathhouse because it’s closest to the Rec Cent— JESUS H. CHRIST!”</p>
<p>The room stunk like isopropyl and copper, and Gerard felt dizzy, even though he was laying down. </p>
<p>Georgie spoke. “I know baby, I know…” </p>
<p>Frank hissed again. His voice came out in pants, wrecked and strained. “I was r-running, and —”</p>
<p>Brian cut in. “Shouldn’t run in the rain, Frankie. Rocks get slippery —”</p>
<p>“I fucking know that, Brian!” Frank yelled, his voice ripping out of his throat.</p>
<p>“<em> Mr. Iero! </em>” Georgie cautioned.</p>
<p>“Georgie, I love you, but my shin is fucking torn in half, and you guys keep pouring this burning shit all over it, and Brian’s being an asshole, so excuse me if I’m a little fucking irritable!”</p>
<p>Gerard bit down on the collar of the hoodie, hiding his giggle in the soft fabric.</p>
<p>“Let the boy curse,” Marie said as she reentered the room, “he’s in pain.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Marie!” Frank bellowed. </p>
<p>“Frank, please lower your voice. You’re going to wake him up,” Brian said. </p>
<p>“I don’t give a shit if I wake him up!” He cried out, his tone piercing.</p>
<p>“He’ll wake the Devil with that volume,” Georgie said under her breath.</p>
<p>Gerard bit the hoodie harder.</p>
<p>Marie jumped in. “Take this, Frankie.” </p>
<p>“He can’t do NSAIDs,” Brian said. “Interacts with his Lexapro.”</p>
<p>Gerard furrowed his brows. Antidepressants weren’t that scandalous (he’d considered them once or twice) but a part of him still felt like he was intruding; like he shouldn’t know that Frank took medication, or at least, he should’ve heard so from Frank himself — but then Gerard remembered that one morning when Mikey and Ray were hungover in the infirmary and Frank had been there, asking Brian for his “medicine”; and then there was last week, when he’d been in Frank’s bedroom and noticed the empty pill bottles by the radio. </p>
<p>And as he laid there pretending to sleep, Gerard realized with a hollow heart that Frank <em> had </em>told him; he’d just done it in his own way, too subtle for Gerard to notice. Shit. What else had he missed?</p>
<p>“I’ll get the Tylenol,” Marie said, and Gerard heard her steps recede. </p>
<p>“God, I wish I hadn’t broke up with Jen…” Frank moaned.</p>
<p>The hollowness in Gerard’s heart filled with heat. He hadn’t known they were together like that, and he certainly hadn’t known that Frank missed her, but he could’ve assumed as much. <em> I hope Adam is helping you get over her, you ass </em>—</p>
<p>“…‘cuz Canadians get those Tylenol with Codeine over the counter, y’know,” Frank went on, “and I feel like Tylenol on its own just isn’t gonna cut it.”</p>
<p>The heat flooded away, leaving empty self-pity in its wake. Gerard was wrong, again.</p>
<p>“Is Jen hiding drugs in her cabin, Frank?” Georgie asked.</p>
<p>“I plead the fifth,” said Frank.</p>
<p>A moment later, Marie returned with Tylenol, and Frank took it. Marie and Georgie left soon after. Gerard heard some more groans of discomfort from Frank as Brian dressed his wounds, and a little while later, the pandemonium ended. </p>
<p>The smack of a branch against the glass window snapped Gerard awake. </p>
<p>“Fuck!” He startled, scrambling up in bed. He saw the infirmary bedsheets clutched in his hands, the too-large Camp Warren clothes on his body, the storm raging outside, and then Frank, who was staring right at him. </p>
<p>Gerard closed his open mouth. The first thing he noticed was Frank’s wide, shadowed eyes, and then the worried furrow of his brow. His hair was a fucking mess, standing around his head in shards like the back of his skull had been blown out. His lips were in a pout like he was confused, not sad. The Camp Warren hoodie he wore pooled around him like a potato sack, making his head and neck look small. The bloodstained bandage wrapped around his left shin was like varnish on the work of art that was <em> Frank, a portrait of misery. </em></p>
<p>Gerard spoke. “Your leg,” he stated, blank.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Frank laughed, scratching at his upper lip, “it’s fucked up.”</p>
<p>“Is it okay?” Gerard tilted his head, glancing at Frank’s bandage. The blood stain spidered out from the center of his shin, all the way down to his ankle. Gerard found it hypnotic, fixating. The red edges of the stain seemed to lift up, float towards him.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” nodded Frank. He licked his lips. “Um, are you?”</p>
<p>Gerard dragged his eyes away from Frank’s legs, lifting them back to Frank’s eyes. “Yeah,” he mumbled. He didn’t feel like divulging, and that answer seemed to relieve Frank. The tension in his brow had melted away. “How long was I out?” Gerard asked.</p>
<p>“Eleven minutes,” Frank answered quickly, like he’d been counting. He pursed his lips as his eyes darted from left to right, unable to focus on Gerard’s. He had been counting, Gerard decided.</p>
<p>“Not too long, then,” Gerard mused, looking over his shoulder into the receiving room. He didn’t see anyone there, and the CPR poster had been tacked back up. “Where are they?” He asked Frank.</p>
<p>“Nurse’s quarters,” Frank said, “watching <em> Golden Girls </em>, no less.”</p>
<p>Gerard slunk back down into bed. “I’m jealous,” he said, toying with the drawstring of the sweats he supposed were his now. The braided string was rough between his fingertips. He felt calm, despite Frank’s presence and all that was attached to it. Maybe Frank’s injury made Gerard feel more in control, or maybe Gerard was just too tired to be nervous — but he wasn’t in the mood for self-analysis anymore. He turned to Frank. </p>
<p>“So, it’s been a few days,” he said.</p>
<p>“It has,” Frank confirmed, nodding slowly.</p>
<p>“How are you?” Gerard asked. </p>
<p>“Um, not good?” Frank said, scratching at his head like he was unsure. </p>
<p>Gerard rubbed his eye, noticing the squelching sound it made under his fist. “I’m sorry, Frank,” he said.</p>
<p>“I’m fucking sorry too, man,” Frank groaned, dropping his hands on the bed in defeat. “I feel like such a fucking creep,” he said, looking at his toes instead of Gerard.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Gerard said.</p>
<p>Frank’s head shot up. A hopeful grin spread across his face. “Forreal?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” The words were coming out easy now, with no emotions left to disguise them. “I had to throw up, Frank. That’s why I ran. You didn’t scare me.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Frank exhaled, shoulders caving forward as his hands flew up to his face. He laughed. “That’s a fucking relief. Mikey would have been so mad at me…”</p>
<p>Gerard could see a grin peeking out from behind Frank’s hands. “Yeah,” he said, “I mean, I was the one who wanted to kiss you, after all.”</p>
<p>Frank dropped his hands from his face, and crossed them over the tops of his bent knees. “I wanted to kiss you too,” he informed Gerard, his voice small.</p>
<p>“I know,” Gerard laughed, noticing the warmth in his cheeks. “That’s why you did.”</p>
<p>Frank exhaled heavily, and stared at Gerard like he was daydreaming. “You’re so cute,” he mused.</p>
<p>Gerard was running on auto-pilot now. “You’re cuter,” he said, his voice sounding a little unfamiliar to his own ears. “Even though you look like Winona at the end of <em> Heathers.” </em></p>
<p>“You look more like Winona than I do, Gerard.”</p>
<p>Gerard laughed, because it was true. “Who does that make you, then?”</p>
<p>Frank leaned back against the mountain of pillows behind him, and draped his hands over his chest. “If I say Christian Slater,” he said, “are you gonna come over here and kiss me again?”</p>
<p>“You don’t need to be Christian Slater for that,” Gerard said.</p>
<p>Frank grinned and scooched over, making some space between him and the edge of the bed. “Get over here."</p>
<p>Gerard pulled his hood up as he hopped out of bed, happy to find that the floor was warm beneath his socked feet. The lights in the room were off, and the window light was scarce, muted by the thick storm clouds above. Everything was colored in shades of gray, everything a shadow of itself. Gerard found it very calming, like a daydream. The storm cracked on as he padded over to Frank, thunder and rain and whooshes of wind punctuating each of his steps.</p>
<p>“Do you like storms?” Gerard asked as he sat on Frank’s bed. He ran his hand over the white sheets, touching the residual warmth from Frank’s body. Life prickled through his skin, singing in his blood cells. He could kiss Frank now, but wanted to make them both wait just a little longer. He wanted it to be hungry.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Frank nodded, turning his head a little to glance out the window. His eyes stood out from the shadows on his face, two lights in the storm. Gerard felt them in his own eyes, sparking behind his retina. Gerard wanted to keep them there, keep Frank’s beauty all to himself. He scanned his eyes downwards, checking Frank’s exposed skin for teeth marks or redness. There were no marks on his neck, none behind his jaw. Just skin, soft and living.</p>
<p>Gerard kept his smile inside. “Me too,” he said, turning his gaze to the window behind Frank’s head. The Junior unit path was starting to flood, rainwater trickling down between rocks and tree trunks. In the back of his mind, he hoped Mikey and the kids were alright. </p>
<p>“Even super strong ones like this,” Gerard added, looking down at Frank. </p>
<p>Frank was staring back at him, inquisitive. “Are you talking to me in metaphors?” </p>
<p>Gerard hadn’t thought so, but maybe that meant he was. He said that to Frank. </p>
<p>Frank stretched his arms out. “C’mere,” he said.</p>
<p>Gerard smiled and twisted his shoulders into Frank’s embrace, his ass barely hanging onto the lip of the bed. “I’m gonna fall, Frank,” Gerard said as Frank’s arms secured around his back.</p>
<p>“You can lay down with me if you want to,” Frank said into his ear.</p>
<p>Gerard did want to. He swiveled around to slump down into bed with Frank, careful not to bump against his bad leg, which was a thing now. Frank’s arms came around his shoulders, holding Gerard tight to his chest. Gerard buried his face in the space just under Frank’s ear, feeling his heart beat alive as Frank’s pulse thrummed against his cheek, their rhythms low and rumbling like the thunder all around them. </p>
<p>“This is nice,” Frank said, his voice a soft hum in Gerard’s head.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gerard said, smiling into Frank’s neck. He smelled like green apple shampoo, cigarettes, rain, and rubbing alcohol. Gerard would bottle it if he could.</p>
<p>“The storm’s a lot nicer like this, too,” Frank said, taking one of his hands off Gerard’s shoulders. “With someone.”</p>
<p>Gerard agreed, and welcomed Frank’s hand as it snuck underneath his hood. “I like when you play with my hair,” Gerard said, tingling all over as Frank’s fingers weaved through the locks by his ear. He shut his eyes, wanting to turn his brain off and get lost in the feeling for a little while. </p>
<p>“You should let me cut it,” Frank laughed, “I’ll make you look sweet.”</p>
<p>“I bet you would,” Gerard breathed.</p>
<p>“I know I would,” Frank said as his hand slipped from behind Gerard’s ear down to his chin. He tilted Gerard’s chin upwards, leaning in with his eyes fixed on Gerard’s lips. The tips of their noses touched, and Gerard felt a little shock ripple all throughout his body. It occurred to him that, right now, he could just be a warm body to Frank — but in this moment, Gerard was also aware he was sort of using Frank in the same way, using his skin and touch to revive him. He placed his hand on Frank’s chest, feeling his steady heartbeat echo through his veins. Gerard shut his eyes as his lips tingled with nearness to Frank’s. </p>
<p>“Kiss me,” Frank said, cradling Gerard’s cheek in his palm.</p>
<p>“It’s so sexy when you do that,” Gerard rushed before he leaned up to kiss Frank, bedsheets rustling beneath them. He wrapped his leg around Frank’s uninjured one and felt Frank’s arm sneaking underneath his hoodie, and he whispered against his lips that it was good, shuddering as Frank’s fingers brushed against his bare lower back; setting little fires wherever they touched. Gerard sighed against Frank's lips, feeling the push and pull of their breathing. Frank closed the space between their lips, slipping his tongue in. </p>
<p>Gerard licked at his lips and tongue, and he tasted<em> sweet, </em> like fruit. “Are you wearing chapstick?” Gerard asked, brushing his cupid’s bow against Frank’s.</p>
<p>“Mango,” Frank answered, nose touching Gerard’s as he pecked him once, “you like it?”</p>
<p>“Fuck yes,” Gerard said right before pulling him back in.</p>
<p>Frank slipped his hand between Gerard’s shoulder blades, pressing on his spine like he wanted to hold him down, wanted to keep him there forever. Gerard let go and gave into the illusion that he was a treasure to Frank; he let the warmth from Frank’s hand sink past the barrier of his skin, let it push into his pores and curl around his bones and muscle, let it ensnare him. Frank’s hands found their way to his waist, and Gerard pressed into him, rubbing himself against Frank’s hip. He didn’t care about the spit running down his chin, about how his teeth checked Frank’s, about the ball of pressure building behind his pelvis, how uneven his breathing and thinking had become.</p>
<p>Frank’s thigh met the space between his legs, and Gerard snapped back. Gerard’s eyelashes brushed against Frank’s brow, like how they’d been before; foreheads pressed together, staring at one another’s proximity-distorted cyclops eye. “Frank,” he breathed, his chest hot and heavy.</p>
<p>“Too much?” Frank said, tucking Gerard’s hair carefully behind his ear.</p>
<p>Gerard’s skin sizzled at the touch. “No,” he whined. Then a moment later, “yes? I think.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Frank whispered, running his thumb over Gerard’s lower lip. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>The intensity in Frank’s eyes was waking Gerard up from his stupor, making every curve and valley of his body ache as it remembered its existence. He felt every swirl on Frank’s thumbprint dip between the cracks of his lips, he noticed the bend of every finger on his hip, the security in his hold. “It’s just really intense,” he said, shutting his eyes. </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Frank whispered, feathering his thumb across Gerard’s cheekbone. </p>
<p>Gerard focused on the gentleness of Frank’s thumb, letting his breathing synch up with his slow back-and-forth brushing motions. Frank was still warm on his lips, still there, not frightened, not leaving. Gerard smiled as he felt the tingling in his lips return, and the pressure below his stomach melt away. </p>
<p>“Should we stop?” Frank asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to,” Gerard answered, opening his eyes to find Frank’s eyes glittering back at him. “Let's keep going. But hands stay outside the pants.”</p>
<p>Frank kissed his nose. “You got it,” he said.</p>
<p>The tenderness of his kiss made Gerard giggle. “For now, at least,” he whispered as Frank ducked his head below his jaw, “y’know. Maybe another time we can do tha—” Frank’s lips were on his neck, soft and sweet. Gerard shut his eyes and let the feeling wash over him, tilting his head back to give Frank more skin to set aflame. “Frank,” he drawled, feeling his pulse hum under Frank’s lips.</p>
<p>“Shh,” Frank murmured, peppering kisses all down his neck. He whispered against his skin, “I got you, Ginger. I got you.”</p>
<p>A smile melted across Gerard’s face, silly and slack. “Don’t make me call you Fred,” he breathed, grinning when he felt Frank’s lips brush against his own.</p>
<p>“You can call me whatever you want,” Frank said before he leaned in, and then they were kissing again, Frank’s hand on Gerard’s hip and Gerard’s hand over Frank’s heart.</p>
<p>They stayed like that, tangled in sterile sheets, drawstring hoodies, and each other's arms; breathing and kissing until the storm subsided.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this might be one of my favorite chapters throughout the whole story. i just love the scenery and mood so much...i hope you liked reading it as much as i liked writing it &lt;3<br/>stay tuned for the next chapter, and thanks so much for reading!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“…so I did get my second chance,” Gerard said to Lindsey, cigarette clamped between his teeth as he towed a garbage bin full of blown-down tree branches around the perimeter of the dining hall. Light came from the windows of the kitchen, yellow against the dark blue of the evening. The air was filled with that after-rain smell, and it was nice, but it couldn’t hold a fucking candle to Frank’s signature scent. Gerard was thinking about buying green apple shampoo just so he could smell Frank whenever he wanted to.</p><p>“In the infirmary, too,” Lindsey said, tossing another bunch of branches into the bin, “you fucking creep.”</p><p>“Like,” Gerard laughed, “in hindsight, it was kind of disgusting.” He paused his stride to hoist a branch (it was more like a fucking log) into the bin. “But it was also totally worth it,” he grunted, bark scraping against his hands as the log fell into the bin with a loud boom.</p><p>“Are you gonna ask him to be your boyfriend?” Lindsey laughed, flicking her cigarette butt out towards the lake.</p><p>Gerard wiped his hands off on his (now dry) pants and looked up at Lindsey. “I don't know,” he said. He tapped cigarette ashes onto the wet ground and said some stuff about Frank’s exes, about how he’d never seen or heard about a gay couple at camp, and about how (according to the Camp Warren rulebook) counselors weren’t supposed be sexual beings, anyway. “I also don’t wanna freak him out. It’s only been like,” he checked his phone and laughed, “um, six hours?”</p><p>“Camp Time, babe,” Lindsey reminded him as she dumped another heavy branch into the bin.</p><p>“Still,” Gerard persisted, taking another drag off his cigarette. He looked out at the water, noting its calmness. It didn’t seem real, all still like that. It was realer before, when it was capping white and threatening to swallow the shore whole. He liked it better that way. </p><p>“Well,” Lindsey said from somewhere behind him, “me and Stella are going to this punk show in like, two weeks. You guys should come.”</p><p>"Like a double date?" Gerard asked.</p><p>Lindsey shrugged. "Doesn't have to be."</p><p>“Frank would like that,” Gerard said and rushed to add, "Mikey would, too." He turned away from the lake to find Lindsey smiling at him, waving a bunch of sticks in his direction. He begrudgingly grabbed the bin by its handle and dragged it over to her, grimacing as it skipped over some big stones. He flipped the bin’s lid open, and then blew a cloud of smoke in Lindsey’s face. “Is it in Boston?” He asked, grinning as Lindsey grimaced.</p><p>“Yeah,” Lindsey answered, breaking his smoke cloud with the toss of her sticks in the bin. They clattered against all the other crap inside. She wiped her hands on her sweater. “And look at you,” she beamed, “a budding Masshole.”</p><p>That word made Gerard’s skin crawl. “Ew! Fucking never,” he scowled at her, “Jersey forever.”</p><p>“Gonna have to decide where your loyalties lie eventually,” she winked.</p><p>“It’s not that far a drive,” Gerard said, thinking of Frank and his neck kisses. Fuck Adam and whoever else, Gerard would do the drive every fucking weekend if it meant Frank was at the end of it.</p><p>Lindsey rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she said, turning the corner around the back of the dining hall, “there’s a huge log blocking the service entrance.”</p><p>Gerard groaned and dropped his shoulders. “Coming,” he said, clasping his hands around the bin handle once more.</p><p>***</p><p>“So was it a panic attack?” Mikey asked later that night, brows furrowed as he lined up a Sour Skittle free throw for Gerard’s open mouth.</p><p>“Yeah,” was all Gerard said, ducking underneath the arc of the flying Skittle. Gerard had no issue telling Lindsey about Frank, but with Mikey, it was different. Maybe he was still wounded from their first conversation about Frank (the one where Mikey warned him that Frank was a Don Juan and his affections meant nothing, and then yelled at Gerard like he he’d been possessed by an angry spirit), or maybe he just didn’t want to tell Mikey about the Frank Train only to have it crash and burn before it’d even left the station. That would be embarrassing; and he didn’t want Mikey to be sad for him, or mad at Frank. He also didn’t want to make Mikey deal with another one of his heartaches.</p><p>The Skittle hit the back of Gerard’s throat with a gross <em> guck </em>sound. Mikey laughed; Gerard started coughing, which only made Mikey laugh harder, and then the sour crystals started burning tiny holes in Gerard’s uvula and his eyes teared up — but he was also laughing even though his throat was on fire, and then he coughed again, which made the candy pop up from the back of his esophagus and land right between his molars. He snapped his jaws down on the Skittle, swallowing it as his and Mikey’s giggles floated up towards the clear night sky.</p><p>“Oh man, Gee,” Mikey said, heaving with laughter as he wiped underneath his tearing eyes. Mikey’s laughter was shaking the picnic table, making Gerard’s water bottle dance back and forth.</p><p>“Fucking hell, Mikey. You almost killed me,” Gerard laughed, his face going warm. He pulled the sleeves of his oversized Camp hoodie down over his hands, and tightened the drawstring that secured the hood around his head, cocooning himself in it.</p><p>Gerard was happy Brian hadn’t asked for the clothes back. When Brian woke him and Frank from their tornado nap, all he had managed to get out was something like “I don’t even wanna know” before he and Frank were a wide-eyed mess of giggles and bedsheets and made-up stories about being scared of storms, of just needing someone to hold throughout the big scary tornado. Brian had just rolled his eyes and told Gerard to go back to his own bed before Georgie came in to change Frank’s bandage, because “I won’t ream you out for ‘canoodling’, but she will”.</p><p>“Imagine if you died like that,” Mikey laughed, bringing Gerard out of his brain. “From a fucking Skittle. On Watch, too.”</p><p>“Imagine if you killed me On Watch,” Gerard said, licking his lips. The taste of Frank’s fruity chapstick lingered there, and he smiled.</p><p>Suddenly, a screen door snapped, reverberating throughout the unit. Gerard felt it ring in his ears, and then Mikey was yelling towards their cabin, “Julian!”</p><p>Julian was barely down the front steps, nothing but a lanky figure in the dark. He called back, his voice ringing throughout the sleepy unit, “I-I was just going to the bathr—”</p><p>“Get back in the cabin, Julian,” Mikey shouted, the basketball court lights illuminating his pointy-toothed grin, “you can see Nina tomorrow!”</p><p>“I hate you, Mikey!” Julian yelled back before trudging back up the steps.</p><p>Mikey turned back to the picnic table as the screen door snapped closed again. There was a tiny little smirk on his face, and Gerard laughed. “He doesn’t hate me,” Mikey said, having another Skittle.</p><p>“It’s not possible to hate you,” Gerard said, because it was true. </p><p>Mikey smiled, a light flush on his cheeks. “So,” he said a second later, looking at Gerard over his glasses. “Panic attack. What happened, dude?”</p><p>“Don’t know,” Gerard said, drumming his fingers on the picnic table. <em> Tap tap tap tap. </em>“Just timing, I guess.”</p><p>“Was it about the lake?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard answered, looking past the trees at the end of the basketball court. The lake was behind those trees, peeking through the blackness of the night. He could see the glow from lakehouses ripple on its surface, waves of light and dark that he felt breathing inside of him. The feeling he was getting now wasn’t anxiety, he noticed — it wasn’t buzzing nor maddening enough. It was a dull feeling, like the distant ache from a toe stubbed hours ago. Maybe the panic attack hadn’t been about the lake, he thought. Maybe it'd been about something else entirely.</p><p>“You wanna think about exposure therapy again?” Mikey said through a mouthful of candy.</p><p>Gerard snapped back to him. “I don’t think you pushing me off the dock counts as exposure therapy, Mikey.”</p><p>“Could be helpful, though,” he deadpanned, reaching across the table to steal a sip of water from Gerard’s water bottle.</p><p>“For me, or for you?” Gerard laughed, watching Mikey chase the mound of sugar in his throat with the disgusting metallic Camp Warren water.</p><p>Mikey grimaced as he swallowed. “Probably me,” he croaked.</p><p>“Probably,” Gerard said. He rested his cheek on his palm, and gazed at his little brother. Sometimes, when Gerard looked at Mikey just the right way, he could see the dorky little kid he’d sat at the kitchen table with, the one he’d shared meals and Legos and <em> Magick </em>cards with. Then he’d shift his eyes a little to the right, and the adult Mikey would come snapping back into vision, a taller, handsomer, better-at-hiding-his-freak-flag version of that same little dude. Gerard smiled. He and Mikey didn’t have a lot of adolescent or adult memories together, and that was kinda sad — but, he realized, that was because they were making them right now. </p><p>“I love you, Mikey,” Gerard said, because he could.</p><p>Mikey stared at him, a little taken aback. “Love you too, man."</p><p>Gerard just leaned forward and smiled, swiping the bag of Skittles from Mikey’s end of the table. </p><p>“Hey!” Mikey whined.</p><p>“Tell me about Alicia,” Gerard said, popping a candy into his mouth.</p><p>Mikey grinned, and told him everything.</p><p>***</p><p>Gerard was sitting at the Junior unit picnic table again, listening to music on his iPod and drawing out that war scene he’d imagined with Frank. The sun was burning holes through his t-shirt, but the light it provided for his drawing was unbeatable. He could make out every scritch on the undead army’s faces, every notch on the barrel of their tanks. When he smudged, he could feel the pulp of the paper beneath his fingertips, rough and fibrous. Finally, the lines were coming out with ease; his pencil danced across the page.</p><p>The previous night’s talk with Mikey had been bittersweet. Gerard had never seen his brother so eager to spill about his life, so blushy and lovestruck. Mikey had said that, after camp was over, he was thinking about maybe going on a road trip with Alicia, somewhere in the desert where the both of them had never been; a pocket of time and space they could claim for themselves. A part of Gerard had been worried about being that far from Mikey, about Mikey being that far from him — but he knew Mikey could take care of himself. He knew that because Mikey had taken care of <em>him</em>, and because Mikey was alive despite Gerard doing a poor job of returning the favor. He had time to change that, though.</p><p>The light on his page dimmed like it’d been eclipsed, and Gerard fumbled the shading on the tank, making a stray line down the page. He frowned — but then the light came crawling in again, Pete and Kelly along with it. They sat down on the other end of the table with a bag of chips, and Gerard began erasing the stray line as their conversation lofted in over the music in his ears.</p><p>“…texting him last night,” Pete was finishing, crunching on a chip.</p><p>“You’re kidding,” Kelly said.</p><p>Pete spoke again. “Nuh-uh, dude.”</p><p>“So are they like, back together?” Kelly asked as she ate.</p><p>Gerard wanted to look over, but forced himself to keep shading the undead army’s artillery.</p><p>“No,” Pete answered, “but you know how he is.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Kelly sighed. “I like Adam, though,” she laughed, “more than I like Mia, that’s for fucking sure.”</p><p>"Amen," Pete chuckled.</p><p>Gerard nearly snapped his pencil in half.</p><p>***</p><p>Now, Gerard was in bed for the night, pajama’d up and irritable. He wished he felt sleepy, but his body was still vibrating and tense with rage from earlier in the day. He'd been so pissed off that he'd avoided Frank, declined Ray’s offer to go to Walmart “for the hell of it”, and trudged back to the cabin after dinner instead of having his usual dessert cigarette with Lindsey. He knew he was being stupid, that he and Frank weren’t <em> together </em>  so he couldn’t really be mad at him, but <em> fuck </em>he was frustrated. You weren't supposed to talk to other people if you liked someone, especially not your ex.</p><p>His phone buzzed and he scrambled for it. Counselors weren’t supposed to go on their phones around the kids, but<em> — </em><em>what if it's Frank? </em>— all of them were too busy reading comics or picking their noses to notice what Gerard was doing.</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>r u ok</p><p>Oh. Gerard looked over his shoulder at Mikey’s bunk to find Mikey staring right back with his phone in his hands. Gerard's phone buzzed again, and he turned back into his own bunk.</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>hello</p><p><em> Gerard: </em>how did u type that w/o looking</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>superpowers :)</p><p><em> Gerard: </em>i fckin knew it</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>ok lol but talk 2 me. wats up</p><p>Gerard bit the inside of his cheek, and worried his thumbs over the keypad of his phone. </p><p><em> Gerard: </em>does it mean sumthing if someone texts their ex?</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>idk. not always. it just might mean u miss them</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>but tht doesnt hav 2 mean anything either. like ur allowed 2 miss ppl</p><p><em> Gerard: </em>ok. but would u b mad if alicia did that</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>depends on wat they talked abt. like maybe</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>and ya she did that a few times wen we were hooking up but tht was diff bc she wasn't rly my gf yet</p><p>Gerard rested his head back on his pillow and stared at the strand board above, imagining the fragments of wood all fitting together like the puzzle pieces he was gathering in his head. It seemed like, because he and Frank weren’t <em>boyfriends</em>, he couldn’t really be mad about him texting Adam. And on top of that — Gerard realized in a rare moment of clarity and self awareness — he didn’t even fucking know what they were talking about. Adam could have been asking for a chili recipe or some shit, and Frank could have been telling him to fuck off and leave him alone because he was totally in love with Gerard. Either way, Gerard didn’t know, and he knew he wouldn’t be brave enough to ask, so he'd just have to deal with it. And he<em> would</em> deal with it (with angst and annoyance) if it meant he got to keep kissing Frank. </p><p><em> Mikey: </em>y tho? do u want 2 txt daniel?</p><p><em> Gerard: </em>no</p><p><em> Mikey: </em>ok good</p><p><em> Fuck you, </em> Gerard thought.</p><p><em>Gerard: </em>w/e. i'm going 2 sleep. love u</p><p><em>Mikey: </em>k. luv u 2</p><p>A few minutes later, Gerard called “lights out” and cast the cabin into darkness. He crawled back into bed and let the warm breeze from his open window roll over him, soothing the tension in his face and body. He noticed the softness of the pillowcase against his cheek, and smiled into it, smelling the detergent from the laundry room. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched the counselors On Watch play cards, and he thought about Frank’s hands: how they shuffled cards, how they played guitar, how they felt on his skin, warm and safe and secure.</p><p>Just then, his phone buzzed near his shoulder. His arm felt heavy as he held the phone over his face, squinting at the harsh brightness of the screen.</p><p><em> Frank: </em>gnight G</p><p>Gerard bit back a smile, feeling his chest burst with warmth. It was only a text, but<em> fuck</em>, did it make him feel all kinds of stupid. He texted back <em> nite, </em> hid his phone back under his mattress, and giggled himself to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks so much for all the comments and kudoses! it's really amazing to see people engaging with this story. it's the first thing i've written in a while, and it's super encouraging to see you all enjoying it!!<br/>next chapter up soon :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT!!!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heed the adult/explicit content warning. it's not that graphic (none of the stuff in this fic is, tbh) but it's described.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pseudo tornado from a few days ago had the camp looking a little run-down. Lindsey and Gerard had done a good job tidying the dining hall area, as had the other counselors in their respective units, but the wooden bridge between Senior and Freshman field had yet to be fixed. A tree had blown down during the storm and snapped the old thing in half, and now the two fields were being bridged by a foldable plastic picnic table.</p>
<p>Somehow, Bob had roped Mikey and Frank into spending their rest period building the new bridge. Gerard had been roped in too, but that’d been Frank’s doing — he hadn’t wanted to spend the hottest part of the day toiling in the dirt parking lot behind the groundskeeper’s house, but then Frank had sent him a text saying <em> “come help me G :) i totally need u” </em>, and he’d hopped out of bed so fast that he’d nearly concussed himself on Ben’s bunk.</p>
<p>Things had been going good with Frank. Gerard still had a ton of questions about what Frank was doing in his free time, about why he still talked to girls in the dining hall, about who he was texting — but whenever those uncertainties weighed on him, the fun of their affair was right there to lighten the load. It was a back-and-forth between his brain and body, a tug of war between the desire to solidify things and the desire to keep things light and fun. Historically, Gerard wasn't really that good at keeping things light and fun (he and Daniel were hot and heavy from the get-go, much to everyone's dismay) but he was trying. Really, really trying.</p>
<p>Gerard was also really trying to not be an asshole brother anymore, so he hadn’t whined when Mikey suggested they start the bridge. Frank and Bob had needed to rest anyway (Frank’s leg hurt from the walk over, and Bob’s shoulders hurt from being his human crutch), and doing the bridge with Mikey had turned out to be a rather illuminating experience. It turned out that Gerard wasn’t so bad with a hammer, and Mikey could really handle a fucking chainsaw.</p>
<p>“Told you he fixed my aunt’s porch!” A recouped Frank had yelled from the bed of Craig’s truck, swinging his injured leg off its bumper, one arm up on the wall of the trunk while he and Bob finished up their tallcans. Beer spilled over the boundary of Frank’s lips and trickled down his neck, glistening in the summer sun like gold on his skin. Gerard’s brain had screamed at him to go over there and lick a long, hops-flavored stripe up his neck, but he ignored the impulse because him and Frank weren’t a public thing — and that was okay, as long as Gerard didn’t stop and think about it for too long. He hadn’t been for the past little while, and it seemed to be working just fine. </p>
<p>Gerard was now sat on the steps of the groundskeeper’s house, hard concrete under his ass while he smoked a cigarette and chose songs for Bob and Frank to work to. About halfway through Motorhead’s record <em> Ace of Spades, </em>Mikey skipped out, saying nothing more than "see you at dinner" before disappearing into the late afternoon.</p>
<p>“I think I know why Mikey was so eager to let you guys work first,” Bob said as he brushed sealant over the wood.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Starts with ‘<em> A’, </em> ends with ‘ <em> ah’,” </em>Frank laughed, holding his cigarette between his teeth as he sanded off the raw end of a plank or some shit like that, Gerard didn't fucking know, he wasn’t paying attention to Frank’s carpentry skills. Gerard was more focused on Frank’s cut-off t-shirt and how it showed off his tanned arms and shoulders; how the muscles moved and tensed while he worked, how the sun caught the sweat on his skin and made him shimmer; made Gerard feel warm all over. Frank glanced at him between motions, smiling brightly — and Gerard realized Frank wasn’t really that concerned with his work, either. </p>
<p>When Bob drove off to go install the bridge with Craig, Gerard turned off the speakers and grinned as Frank leaned up against the workbench parked in the dirt. The sunlight was hitting the building behind Frank, showcasing the collection of dusty glass bottles behind one of its windows and illuminating all the cracks in its facade. Gerard gazed at Frank’s profile, studying the slope of his nose and the bead of sweat that dripped off it when he smiled down at his Vans.</p>
<p>Gerard tapped ashes into the dirt and smiled. “You didn’t really need my help, did you?” </p>
<p>Frank raked his hands through his hair and laughed. He stalled for a moment, just looking at his nails and avoiding Gerard’s gaze. “Maybe,” he said a second later, squinting at the trees above.</p>
<p>“Liar, liar,” Gerard teased, taking another languid drag. “You brought me out here just so you could flex on me," he smirked, exhaling smoke, "like some kind of sexy punk lumberjack."</p>
<p>Frank pushed himself off the work bench, and limped over to Gerard. “Okay, you got me,” he sighed at the steps and stole the cigarette from Gerard’s lips, “I did just want to flex on you. But I guess it worked, since you think I’m a sexy punk lumberjack.”</p>
<p>Gerard laughed, cheeks hot under Frank’s gaze. “What I <em> think </em> is that you’re a dumbass,” he said adoringly.</p>
<p>“You may be right about that.” Frank put Gerard’s cigarette between his lips. “But what I really wanna know is,” he started, raising his arms, “did you enjoy the show?”</p>
<p>“Oh god. Frank, don’t —”</p>
<p>“The <em> gun </em> show?” Frank said as he flexed his arms in and out like a bodybuilder, laughing. Gerard was laughing too; at Frank and his silly display of masculinity, but also at himself for being monkey-brained enough to swoon over it. <em> Ray was right about the pheromone shit, </em> he thought as Frank’s arms came down to his sides again.</p>
<p>“You’re such an idiot,” Gerard beamed, wearing the blush on his cheeks with pride.</p>
<p>“Tsk-tsk. You should be a little more grateful, Gee,” Frank joked, ashing his cigarette onto the ground. “Not everyone gets free admission.”</p>
<p>Gerard played along. "Oh, but I'm special, right?"</p>
<p>"Fuck yeah, you are," Frank replied earnestly, and Gerard didn't know what to do with himself, "so special."</p>
<p>Gerard bit back a stupid smile and let Frank finish his cigarette, watching as smoke lofted up towards the sky on a gust of wind. Gerard followed its path, chest fluttering as he imagined the clouds taking Frank’s breath into their webs of condensation, weaving a thread of Frank was right into the fabric of the universe. <em>Right where he belonged,</em> Gerard thought, and that's what it was — Frank was just so <em> natural, </em> so real in a way that Gerard had never known himself nor anyone else to be. It was both intimidating and beautiful, and Gerard was enamored by it. </p>
<p>There he was; Frank, beautiful Frank, standing in the Camp Warren dirt with his Asbury Park cut-off t-shirt, ratty gym shorts, bandaged leg, unmatched socks, and beat-up shoes. Gorgeous Frank, holding Gerard’s cigarette between his fingers, the polish on his nails black and chipped. Wonderful Frank, with his work-ruined hair and scraped up knees. Frank, with trails of sweat running down his lightly freckled nose, and that signature grin that showed off his crooked bottom teeth. </p>
<p>It would be one of those images Gerard remembered for the rest of his life; a moment in time where time didn’t exist. Life, still and more special. More extraordinary. More everything.</p>
<p>“What are you staring at?” Frank quipped, tossing Gerard’s cigarette butt into the dirt.</p>
<p>Gerard brushed his hair from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. “Nothing much,” he said cooly.</p>
<p>“Asshole,” Frank said, using the banister to lower himself down next to Gerard. Frank groaned a little as he sat down, grimacing at the pain in his leg like an old man.</p>
<p>Gerard’s brain gave him the image of the two of them sixty years in the future, sitting on the back porch of some shared home that didn’t exist yet. They were wrinkled and grumpy and old and their fingers weren’t as nimble as before, but they held hands anyway. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but <em> holy shit </em>, what a future that would be.</p>
<p>“How’s the leg?” Gerard asked, back in the present. </p>
<p>“Painful,” Frank sighed and put his head on Gerard’s shoulder, fitting right into the curve of his neck. Gerard could feel the warmth from his cheek, could smell the sweat and green apple from his scalp. His heart thumped at Frank’s weight against his chest. “Walking hurts,” Frank added with a small laugh, “everything hurts.”</p>
<p>“Noooo,” Gerard whined, putting his arm around Frank’s back, gently caressing his sun kissed shoulder. “I’m so sorry. That fucking blows.”</p>
<p>“S’okay,” Frank shrugged. “I’m managing.”</p>
<p>“Are you, though?” Gerard asked, tracing shapes on Frank’s warm skin.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I’m popping Tylenols like they’re candy — and they help, but they also make my stomach feel like the tenth circle of Hell," Frank said as he ran his hand down his face, laughing desperately. “I’m so fucked, Gee.”</p>
<p>Gerard giggled with him. “You just can’t catch a break, huh?” </p>
<p>“Well,” Frank said, pulling back just a little to gaze at Gerard, “I think I’m kinda catching one right now.”</p>
<p>Gerard laughed, warmed by the dumb look on Frank’s face. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Kinda,” Frank hummed, turning in to brush his lips over Gerard’s neck — little fires, all over again.</p>
<p>Gerard lifted his hand to bring Frank’s face to his, but Frank leaned in first, stealing the kiss like the menace he was. Gerard giggled and slipped his tongue between Frank’s lips, his taste buds rejoicing at that same mango flavor.</p>
<p>“I fucking love your chapstick,” Gerard said between kisses.</p>
<p>“Okay, Napoleon Dynamite,” Frank mumbled back.</p>
<p>Gerard grinned. "Shut up.” </p>
<p>He snaked his hand around the back of Frank’s neck, sliding his fingers through his hair as he kissed him deeper. He tasted the sour flavor of sweat as it mixed with mango, the ghosts of beers and cigarettes and dining hall food, his residual morning breath and Frank’s. It was kind of gross, but it was raw — and Gerard had never known anything like it. All he’d known was Daniel, and he hadn’t felt anything like this. Gerard was kissing Frank hard now, all tongue and spit and mess. Frank hummed into the back of his throat and softened the kisses, slowed them, ran his fingers down the length of Gerard’s neck and eased him to his pace. Gentle licks at one another's tongues sent waves through Gerard, making him aware of the ache pressing against the zipper of his shorts. A moan escaped his throat, and then his stomach tightened as Frank’s hand began sliding up his thigh.</p>
<p>“Is this okay?” Frank asked, tugging at the button of his shorts. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gerard said fervently, "super okay."</p>
<p>Skin met skin, and Gerard’s mouth fell open.</p>
<p>Frank touched him with a tenderness that he’d never experienced before. He was surprised that things could be so tender and still have his spine tingling, his breath hitching in his throat, his skin sensitive and his vision crackling. It only took a few minutes for Gerard to start feeling those cords bunching and snapping behind his stomach, and when he whined into the air, Frank kissed under his jaw, behind his ear, and at his temples. Frank set his skin on fire, and then cooled it down with sweet notes of encouragement and delicious curses in his ear. Frank stroked and kissed and whispered until Gerard felt all those tender-fiery-sweet feelings mix together and break, bursting into a cloud of stardust behind his eyes.</p>
<p>Gerard held the back of Frank’s neck, panting as he pressed their foreheads together. It was intense, it was quick, and it was going to be super uncomfortable until he got back to his cabin to change, but that was okay — because the world was soft, the sun was warm, and Frank was there.</p>
<p>“Sorry about your shorts,” Frank giggled, kissing him once. “We can trade if you want.”</p>
<p>“Ew,” Gerard said, blushing at the kiss and the offer. “I have extras, Frank.”</p>
<p>"Not here, you don't," Frank brushed his nose against Gerard’s, delicate. “But suit yourself,” he grinned. </p>
<p>“God, you’re fucking weird,” Gerard said, enraptured as he and Frank kissed again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading &lt;3 next chapter out soon :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>adult content warning! also, heads up for drinking and such.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is on the shorter side, but still (i think) packed with emotion. there's also a fall out boy reference in here, let me know if you catch it hehe</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Days after the incident at the groundskeeper's place, Gerard is sneaking around yet again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you glad you risked getting fired for this, Gee?” Mikey said as he clinked his bottle of beer with Gerard’s. The blush on Mikey’s nose made Gerard smile. “Totally, Mikes,” Gerard said, leaning back on the old boathouse couch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The place was filled out by friends and other people Gerard recognized but couldn’t give names to. His eyes lazed around the room, drinking in the sights before him: Kelly was sitting on the lip of the pool table, glowing as Pete readjusted her birthday tiara. The twins were cast in shadows as they played cards with Nat and Ray, a few crumpled bills resting in the betting pile. Frank and Bob were leaning against the opposite wall, chatting. The blacked out windows behind them were lined with construction paper chains, linking rings of color that caught the orange light from the lamps scattered around the room. Gerard could see the pulp in the paper, tiny dots curling around the bends and links, like seashells in a wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Gerard had said, looking out the Art Shed window as he felt Frank’s hands slip around his waist. The Rec Center ahead was washed in sunset light, a gray building turned the same burnt orange as the colored paper in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Frank murmured, his greeting soft in the empty air of the Art Shed. “Are those for Kelly’s birthday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard said. He felt the pressure of Frank’s arms as they circled his stomach, felt the warmth from Frank’s cheek as he hooked his chin over his shoulder. He saw Frank’s hands clasped together over his belly, saw his healing leg on the other side of his, saw the sleeves of his purple sweater, saw his chipped nail polish and the curl of red script around his wrist; </span>
  <em>
    <span>i wish i were a ghost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty,” Frank smiled against his neck. “Need any help?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard connected the orange paper ring to the red one behind it, and traded paper for skin as he slid his fingers between Frank’s. “Totally,” he said, looking below his waist at the half completed paper chain, the first of many. Frank’s fingers flexed against his, making him smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get to work then, Ginger,” Frank whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard’s cheeks burned. “Alright, Fred.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Rec Center was a shadow now, purple like the strip of paper in Frank’s hands, blue like the one in Gerard’s. Frank sat in front of the window, the dark view outside contrasting with the brightness of his face. He was laughing; telling Gerard about the time he took Dante to the aquarium for his birthday and got lost in the Creatures of The Deep exhibit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found him chilling by a statue of one of those ugly ass fanged fishes,” Frank chuckled, eyes down as he taped the ends of his ring together. “He was like, totally fine. It was me who was freaking out — I was like, ‘oh my god, oh my god, Dante!’ and he was just like, ‘Frankie!’” Frank made a wide-eyed smiley expression and spoke in a high voice, “‘look at this fish! It’s a vampire!’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank’s high-pitched laugh sounded like cloth squeaking on glass, but it made Gerard’s heart flutter anyway, and a sigh parted from Gerard’s lips as he inserted himself into that memory; imagined himself and Frank in the dark, running past fish tanks and biome diagrams to find Dante. Gerard joined the ends of his blue paper ring and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s so cute,” Gerard said, light in his chest as he put tape over the join. “Dante really loves you. You’re like, all he talks about,” Gerard was swooning over the good-with-kids thing again, “besides Iron Man, obviously.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Frank said, and then after a moment, “y’know, we should go to the aquarium.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard looked up at him then; at the soft, genuine look on his face. It made him drop his hands and loosen his shoulders. “We?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Frank said, fingers scratching at his upper lip. “Like, for a day off or something. I don’t know. We could all go. I know Ray likes the food court there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course Ray likes the fucking food there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard thought looking down at his hands, tension returning to his shoulders as Frank went on. He heard his voice in the distance — “Bob loves sea snails. Isn’t that funny? … Oh, and Pete can do a really good seal impression, it always freaks the trainers out. … Holy shit, Gee. We should take acid before we go! It’ll be insane…” — and kept his gaze on his little blue ring, eyes burning as they fixated on all the pulps and grains inside the paper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me do it,” Frank’s voice cut through, and when Gerard looked up, F</span>
  <span>rank was smiling and making grabby hands for the paper ring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard passed it to him, noticing the heaviness in his arm. The voice in his head </span>
  <em>
    <span>(did you really think he was going to ask you out? What did you think was going to happen, Gerard? Come on) </span>
  </em>
  <span>was too loud to speak over, so he said nothing and watched Frank’s hands. They were were agile as he taped his purple circle to Gerard’s blue one; careful as they added those two to the rest of the chain. </span>
  <span>Frank rustled the chain on his end, and Gerard felt paper brush against his shin. He looked down at the floor, and noticed that the chain was pooling below the table, a coiling mess of colors. Its sight and sound made the voice in his head deafen to a low hum, made him laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we can call this one done,” Gerard smiled, picking up his end of the chain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank picked his up as well. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them were standing on opposite ends of the table, rustling the chain and gazing at their creation. Gerard rotated his wrist and noticed the calm that fell over him as the rings turned, catching soft light in their curves. “Pretty,” Gerard said aloud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chain dipped then, its midsection valleying towards the floor as the sound of Frank’s sneakers floated into Gerard’s ears. Gerard glanced up, heart racing as Frank slipped his arm around his waist, still holding his end of the chain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty,” Frank said, moving his paper-filled hand into Gerard’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard felt the warmth of Frank’s skin, the roughness from the paper, saw the colors all mixing together. Tingles broke out across his face as he looked into Frank’s eyes, sparkling and familiar. “You think so?” Gerard blushed as Frank’s face came nearer to his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank nodded, sincerity in the curve of his smile. “The prettiest,” he said, slipping their wrists through the paper chain to hold hands with more ease. Gerard tangled his fingers in Frank’s, and moved his hip slightly in as their lips met.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard remembered the slip of paper against his wrist as he freed his hand. He remembered the warmth that enveloped his fingers as he slipped them over the elastic of Frank’s shorts, the softness of his skin there. He remembered how the floor was uneven against his knees, how it hurt, how Frank took off his sweater so he would have something softer to kneel on. He remembered the way Frank’s face twisted when he slid against Gerard’s tongue, how he looked standing above him, so weak and so strong at the same time. He remembered how Frank said his name, made it sound more beautiful as he shouted and strangled around its syllables. He remembered the salt and thickness in the back of his throat, how it tasted and how sore his jaw was when Frank pulled away. He remembered how Frank had eased him to his feet and rubbed circles in his cheeks, massaging his tired muscles until they were relaxed enough to kiss again. He remembered the kisses. Small, like tiny dots in the curve of a paper ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee?” Mikey said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard came out of his head to find that Mikey and Alicia were staring at him. “Sorry,” he said, gripping the glass bottle in his palm tighter, transferring the coolness from the glass to his mind. “Um,” he chuckled, “what’d you say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alicia glanced at Mikey, some worry in her eyes. “I was asking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rocky Horror </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Little Shop of Horrors?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn,” Gerard exhaled, taking a deep swig of beer. He could feel the grin on his face, tight and aching. “Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rocky Horror, </span>
  </em>
  <span>man,” he answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah, dude,” Alicia said, sticking her fist out for Gerard to bump. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard noticed the noodliness of his arm as he lifted it to bump Alicia’s fist back. “Solidarity,” Gerard slurred while their knuckles touched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey’s flushed face spread into a grin. “Gee’s drunk,” he laughed, nudging Alicia. She nudged him back, and then Mikey giggled and planted a quick kiss on the tip of her nose that made Gerard’s nose itch for kisses. The floor was hard against Gerard’s palm, and his joints cracked as he stood up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gonna go see what Frankie’s doing,” he said as he stumbled forwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful on your way over, dude,” Mikey said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard dismissed Mikey’s worries with a wave of his hand, and walked on. He noticed little else besides the give of the floorboards below his feet, how they dipped slightly around his Converse, how they sprung him further forwards towards Frank — but then his feet slipped over one another, and he felt his hip ache as it slammed into the pool table; the pain dulled by the booze running through his system.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ouch,” Gerard mumbled anyway, wrapping his hands around the lip of the table. The pool fuzz was green in some parts, red and brown in others. It made Gerard’s tongue feel itchy, made him scowl. “Ew,” he whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“…so what do you think?” Someone near the window said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Gerard looked up, Frank was there, but Bob was gone — in his place was that long-legged halter-top wearing counselor from what seemed like forever (but was only a few weeks) ago, batting her eyelashes. Frank was grinning back, a sight that set a blaze of some indecipherable feeling in the pit of Gerard’s stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that sounds like a lot of fun,” Frank said, his lips in a wicked grin that made Gerard tighten his grip on the lip of the pool table and turn his eyes into daggers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you think he’ll be into it?” She asked, taking a sip from her red cup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank laughed, one hand in the pocket of his shorts. “Emma. Are you kidding? Of course he will.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re talking about someone else, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard realized and loosened his grip, </span>
  <em>
    <span>relax.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just nervous,” she huffed. “It’s just different now that he’s not at camp.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. But you’re Emma, and he’s Gabe,” Frank responded, using that candid, certain tone Gerard was so familiar with, the one that made whatever words underneath it sound like the undeniable truth, “he’ll say yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma pouted her lips, unconvinced. “But what if he doesn’t?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’ll take you out instead,” Frank chuckled, a warm smile on his and Emma’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll make him so jealous,” Emma said, a devious look on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make him </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>us,” Frank added, grinning at their mischievous plan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heat stung at Gerard’s eyes and chest as he pushed himself off the pool table. Maybe Frank was just being playful or whatever, but it certainly didn’t feel like that. The two of them were having a dynamic right in front of him (how dare they), engaging in the sort of clever banter that Gerard thought was reserved only for him. He felt a heaviness inside himself, low and hollow in his stomach, like a pit; and needles of tension prickled in his forehead as he watched Emma laugh, watched Frank touch the paper chain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank held one of the blue curls between his fingers, turning his wrist over and studying the bend of the paper. Gerard watched the memory play out on Frank’s face, watched the way he shook his head and smiled down at his feet. They met eyes, and then it was all blush and bared teeth, grins and bitten lips as they reminisced about their private, tender depravity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerard finally stood upright, noticing the strength in his legs and spine as he did so. He smiled as Frank shot a wink at him, lodging an amorous bullet right behind his second rib, right in his heart where it belonged (</span>
  <em>
    <span>where Frank belonged); </span>
  </em>
  <span>and at the steady thump of his chest, Gerard realized that everything was alright — and that he was also an absolute goner. <em>Fuck.</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i think this is the longest lapse in updates i've had, so thank your patience. i've just been feeling a little out of sorts, and as such, finding the energy to edit and post has been challenging. your comments really keep me going, though — i cannot thank you all enough for actually caring about this story, it just means the world to me &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3 i hope to have the next chapter up sooner rather than later. stay blessed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>no adult content here. short chapter, kind of a hurt/comfort vibe. enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So why are you scared of the lake?” Frank asked.</p><p>Gerard stopped sketching Frank’s eyes, flicking his own up to his real ones. “What?” He said, squinting at the sun that poked out from the trees around them.</p><p>“You said at Gabe’s party that you’re scared of the lake,” Frank puffed a cloud of smoke towards Gerard’s face. “How come?”</p><p>Gerard dropped his sketchbook in the grass beside him and sighed. The look on Frank’s face was comforting, but there was a gnawing itch in his cheek. He scratched at it, and said nothing.</p><p>“Okay, fine then.” Frank huffed, “we’ll do it this way.”</p><p>Grass swished underneath Frank as he turned himself around, facing away from Gerard. He leaned backwards and then his head was in Gerard’s lap; Gerard with his eyebrows raised as Frank stared up at him. Gerard could see all the little freckles on his nose, the hairs he’d missed when he’d plucked his eyebrows, the ash that fell onto his chin as he spoke with the cigarette still in his mouth.</p><p>“What do you wanna know about me?” Frank asked, grabbing Gerard’s hand.</p><p><em>Everything, </em>Gerard thought, and <em>also, if you’re still texting Adam </em>as he felt Frank’s nails scratch at his palm. His eyes circled around Frank’s wrist, at the red script there. </p><p>“I wanna know what this one means,” Gerard said, squeezing Frank’s hand. <em> “I wish I were a ghost.” </em></p><p>Frank peered up at him. “That’s a deep one.”</p><p>“Really?” Gerard asked, noticing the slant of Frank’s lips.</p><p>“Sort of,” he said, holding the cigarette up to Gerard’s mouth. “As deep as a stupid teenage tattoo can be.”</p><p>Gerard took the cigarette between his lips, noticing its slight mango flavor. He stroked Frank’s wrist, fingertips buzzing over veins and ink. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said, even though Frank had made it sound like it was no big deal. Gerard was getting good at knowing when Frank was deflecting; and self-deprecating humor was typically part of that deflection. </p><p>“I do want to,” Frank said.</p><p>“Alright,” Gerard smiled, feeling soft with Frank’s hand in his. </p><p>“I think you know this already, but I take medication. For like, mental health stuff,” Frank said, a little strained. “Anxiety and depression, or whatever.”</p><p>“Mhm,” Gerard said, because yeah, he did know that already. Frank’s eyes shut and then Gerard looked out at the empty field around them, noticing the hush that had fallen over it. It was like the world was slowing down for Frank to speak, for him to listen — for <em> them </em>. </p><p>“The tattoo is like, about that,” Frank explained, forehead creased. “It was something I wrote in a journal once, when I was really fucked up — like, emotionally; not on drugs or booze. Though there was some of that, too.”</p><p>Gerard noticed the tension in Frank’s face, and held the cigarette between his lips so he could free his hands. With his palms on either side of Frank’s head, he rubbed at his temples, skin moving in circles under his fingers. Frank let out a sigh, and Gerard smiled.</p><p>“I didn’t want to feel anything anymore,” Frank continued easily, his forehead unwrinkling. “I had too many feelings all at once. I was sad about everything, and then I’d get scared about how sad I felt, and then sad about how much being scared was ruining my life. It was too much, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I just wanted it to stop. Didn’t matter how.”</p><p>Frank’s words reminded Gerard of how he felt after Daniel ended, how destroyed he was. Imagining Frank enduring the same maelstrom of feelings broke his heart. “I’m sorry, Frankie,” Gerard sighed, pressing on Frank’s temples. He saw the weight drop out of Frank’s chest, and felt pride in his own. “Do you still feel that way?” Gerard wanted to know.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry,” Frank exhaled, relaxing under Gerard’s touch. “And yeah, sometimes I do. Less so, though. That’s why I got the tattoo. To remember.” </p><p>“I get it,” Gerard said. “It shows how far you’ve come.”</p><p>“And how far I have left to go,” Frank added. “How I can still go back there.”</p><p>Gerard pouted. “Oh, Frank…” </p><p>“It’s not bad, Gee,” Frank breathed, hands coming to rest on his chest. “It’s just true. It’s all a cycle. If I don’t take care of myself, that’s where it goes.”</p><p>Gerard pouted and moved his hands down until they were cradled around the back of Frank’s head, waiting to bring all the stress out of Frank; Gerard wanting to take it into his own hands, hold it for a while so Frank didn’t have to. </p><p>“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, quiet. “I’m glad you’re not a ghost.”</p><p>Frank smiled. “Me too,” he exhaled, sinking down into Gerard’s hands.</p><p>Gerard rubbed at the nape of Frank’s neck, giggling as Frank’s face puddled into calmness. “Never seen you make this face with your pants on,” he laughed.</p><p>“Mm,” Frank hummed, eyes opening as he plucked the cigarette from Gerard’s lips. “That’s just how magical you are, Gee,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke at Gerard’s blushing face, temporarily blinding him. </p><p>Heat spread across Gerard’s chest as the fog cleared and he saw Frank’s beautiful face again; saw his flushed skin and shining eyes staring back at him with all the trust in the world. Gerard was holding Frank and feeling love in his hands, felt warmth melting through his skin. He tasted those words on his tongue, noticed them pressing against his teeth. <em> Too soon? </em>He wondered.</p><p>“Now tell me about the lake,” Frank chirped.</p><p>So Gerard did; he told him everything. </p><p>Duty and passion were Frank’s traits as a listener. He nodded along and held Gerard’s hand, stroked his palm and promised that he wouldn’t laugh. He grimaced when Gerard talked about the leeches, and he cursed out Gerard’s dumbass sailing partner for not swimming away to get help sooner. He told Gerard that he wasn’t stupid for being scared, that it all made sense. </p><p>“You’re brave,” he said after Gerard finished talking. </p><p>“Brave?” Gerard wondered, “how?”</p><p>“Because you’re here, duh,” Frank said, bringing his hand up to cup Gerard’s cheek. “After everything that happened here, you came back. And you haven’t run screaming for the hills, either,” Frank smiled. “That’s pretty brave, Gee.”</p><p>Gerard felt his cheek get warm under Frank’s hand; felt his chest lighten and swirl at the sight of his pretty face, the sound of his kind words. “Same to you,” Gerard muttered after a breath, his voice soft. Frank stared at him for a long moment, smiling under the shadow of Gerard’s face. Gerard bit his lip, lost and happy in Frank’s light. They shared a kiss then, tasting the stories and secrets they'd spoken.</p><p><em> A </em> <em> rose by any other name </em>…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for the kind comments on my last chapter :') this week has been difficult for me, but i wanted to get something out to you all today. things will change soon, and then i'll have the energy to work on the longer chapters :) pce n luv!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>frank and gerard go to that punk show lindsey mentioned ages ago. while there, gerard sees something he doesn't like, and acts (un)accordingly.<br/>-----<br/>this chapter contains adult content, as well as references to drugs + alcohol. cw for unhealthy relationships/behaviors/actions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey!!! how's it going? long time no update. my ancient laptop finally gave out, which meant i a) couldn't post for a while, and b) had a lot of time to think about this story and what i wanted to say with it. i did some rewriting on this chapter, and fuck, am i grateful for that stalemate! i hope you're all doing well, and i hope you enjoy this chapter.<br/>some notes:<br/>- this chapter is contains adult content, substance use, unhealthy relationships/behaviors/actions, and a sexual situation in which both parties are intoxicated.<br/>- this chapter is temporally fucked. it skips between the recent past and the present, and i hope i've written that gracefully enough for it to not be disorienting.<br/>- things do get better!!! i promise lol!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Graffitid band names, tour dates, anti-fascist slogans, and crass doodles spun in front of Gerard’s eyes as he tumbled into the bathroom. Steadying himself against messy black letters that read <em> ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS, </em> he closed his eyes and tasted gin on his lips, felt sweat trickle down his brow, and heard music thrumming in his ears; louder out there than it was in here, but still electrifying. His opened his eyes in a fervor as Frank finally rushed in; getting himself stuck between the lip of the sink and the tops of Gerard’s thighs. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Frank laughed, out of breath and flushed from the moshpit, eyes popping wide with adrenaline. “That last band was so sick, Gee. Did you see that dude with the fucking helmet? It was like a battle jacket, but it was a fucking helmet — I never seen that shit in my life, man.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Gerard said, grinning as he wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder. He smelled like gym socks and green apple, sour with notes of artifice. Bitter. “I saw the helmet guy.”</p><p>“God,” Frank buzzed, rocking back on his heels, “Lindsey’s so fucking cool for taking us here.”</p><p>“I know,” Gerard said, pressing a kiss to Frank’s shoulder. “She’s the coolest.”</p><p>“Nah, that’s you,” Frank sang as he flipped the lock closed (fingers careful and quick as always), and then turned to look at the two of them in the mirror. “Yo,” he chuckled, “we look mega fucked up.”</p><p>Gerard checked their reflection, and yeah, Frank was right. </p><p>The eyeliner Frank had put on him earlier was creasing in the corners of his eyes, the collar of his "bloody dude" hoodie was stretched from being pulled in the pit, and his eyes looked heavy (felt heavy, too). Frank’s sleeveless <em> Violator </em>t-shirt was falling down one shoulder, the skin of his arms pocked red from snagging on silver buckles and studs; and as he panted, the links of his metal choker strained against his throat. Their matching black and blonde hair was equally tousled and greasy, and Gerard couldn’t help but smile at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” Gerard had said in Frank’s bathroom a handful of hours ago, gazing at himself in the mirror as Frank put the finishing touches on his new haircut. “It looks so sick.” </p><p>Thanks to Frank, the Gerard in the mirror had a quasi-shag; a haircut that was longer by his face and neck and shorter around his ears. The Frank beside him had two-toned hair, freshly bleached sides bisected by a shock of jet black that dangled in front of his tight-lined, bloodshot eyes. </p><p>“Told you I’d make you look sweet,” Frank purred, standing at Gerard’s side. “Now you just gotta make me that hoodie, and we’re even.”</p><p>“I’m sorryyy,” Gerard mewled, wincing at himself. He was such a piece of shit. “I suck at deadlines, and Color War is like, so soon, so I’m just really fucking busy and —”</p><p>“Shhh. S'okay,” Frank said with a smile, messing with Gerard’s hair. “Stop whining. I wanna revel in my success for a second.”</p><p>Gerard shut up and smiled, feeling all kinds of silly as Frank went on disheveling his hair. Donna would've called the 'do "a fucking rat's nest", but Gerard thought it looked awesome and that Frank was the most talented guy in the world. Man, he was good with his fingers. "It really does look good, Frank," he gushed.</p><p>“See? Good things happen when you trust me,” said Frank, coyly. “Don’t know what you were so scared of, anyway…” </p><p>Gerard took a drag off his cigarette, wondering for just a moment if it was a good idea to smoke around all the ammonia in the room. “I dunno,” he shrugged, and then embers fell through the air, chancing an explosion. "I guess I was just worried I'd look stupid or something."</p><p><em> “Stupid?” </em>Frank parroted, a scandalized look on his face. “You think I’d let that happen to you?”</p><p>“Fucked up things happen, like, all the time,” Gerard blurted out, and then Frank’s face froze, along with time, space, and Gerard’s breathing.</p><p>Save for the buzz of the lightbulbs on the vanity, the chatter from their friends in the living room, and the music playing off Frank’s crummy phone speakers, things were silent, and Gerard’s skin shrunk two sizes around his skeleton. In the mirror, Frank gawked at him, his face tortuous like the sensation swirling inside Gerard — it tasted a lot like citrus vodka, and felt a lot like the flu.</p><p>For one arduous moment, it was like the world was ending; but then Frank's shears fell on the counter, and like a tuning fork, their metallic clink cleared the tension from the air. Breath came back to Gerard's lungs and he let his shoulders slump forward, free of weight.</p><p>“Y’know,” Frank said as he regrouped, reaching for his bleaching supplies, “I usually like it when you get all speculative and shit, but I’m high as fuck right now and I don’t wanna think about chaos theory. You rock, though." </p><p>The smile on Frank’s face said <em> laughing with you, not at you</em>, and Gerard silently thanked God. He wondered, “but isn’t being stoned, like, the perfect time to think about chaos?” </p><p>“Trying to turn off my consciousness, Ginger,” Frank chuckled, "not expand it.”</p><p>“Same, I guess,” Gerard admitted, glancing at the empty vodka bottle on the counter. It’d taken on a sort of menacing stance; erect against the mirror, its curvature distorted his reflection, and he turned his eyes away from it in favor of something more mellow. “Anyway, I'm sorry,” he said, looking at Frank. </p><p>“S’okay,” Frank said, sliding an alligator clip over a layer of hair by Gerard’s right ear. “You’re kinda right, anyway.” </p><p>“Always am.”</p><p>Frank rolled his eyes. “Things <em> do </em> happen, but me making you look stupid is not one of those things,” he said, picking up his tinting brush, a thick glob of QuickBlue on its bristles. “Especially since we’re about to be all matchy-matchy.”</p><p>"Yeah," Gerard swooned as Frank slid a square of tinfoil over his ear and began painting the little patch. God, this was intimate. “Matching is cute,” he said, tossing his finished cigarette into the sink. It went out with a fizzle; no detonation.</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank agreed, his smile loose and high. “Can’t wait to see us.”</p><p><em> Us, </em> Gerard thought as he licked his lips, tasting citrus vodka, ash, and Frank’s mango chapstick. <em> Us, </em> that dearly coveted word, the one he'd been pining for since being with Frank had made singular pronouns seem so undesirable; so obsolete. <em> Us: why be </em> me <em> when I can be </em>we?</p><p>Something came over him. “So does ‘us’ mean me and you, or like, you and me and our friends?” Gerard asked.</p><p>Frank paused his brushstrokes, hand on his hip as he looked at Gerard in the mirror. “Well,” he deadpanned, “I’m not giving Mikey a bleach job, am I?”</p><p>“No,” Gerard replied, scratching his cheek, the skin turning red under his fingers. His stomach and mouth filled with that flu-like feeling again.</p><p>Frank’s lips were straight and tight as he picked up his brush. “Then there’s your answer.”</p><p>So Frank went on bleaching Gerard’s hair, and Gerard waited (for some feeling of elation to pass over him, for his bones to scream with happy fire, for clarity to overtake him like it had when he and Daniel had made things official), but it never came, and that was because Frank hadn’t actually <em> “answered” </em>anything. Of course, Gerard hadn’t really <em>asked </em>him anything, either. He’d disguised his question of “what are we” in a patchy cloak of semantics; dancing around the elephant in the room like a ballerina with new pointe shoes. He’d said nothing, and so Frank had given him nothing in return — but still, what the fuck? </p><p>“Should I wear those jeans tonight?” Frank said, and Gerard’s train of thought derailed, sparks flying over the tracks as its conductor steered recklessly.</p><p>“The black ones?” Gerard hoped. </p><p>Frank smirked. “Duh.”</p><p>“Yeah, you fucking should,” he laughed, feeling the tickle of bristles on his ear. “Love those jeans on you.” </p><p>“Mhm,” Frank hummed, then leaned down to Gerard’s ear to whisper, “think you like them better when they’re off.”</p><p>“Well, that too,” Gerard drawled, his eyes dropping down to Frank’s zipper. He felt Frank’s eyes on him, thought, <em> good, let him look, </em>and gazed on with heavy lids.</p><p>“Fucking horny bastard,” Frank had teased him. </p><p> </p><p>"Fucking venue bathrooms,” Frank said in the present, snarling with glee as Gerard brushed his nose against his neck, “always so goddamn tiny.” </p><p>“Yeah, so shitty...but being close to you is fun,” Gerard said, biting down on the metal around Frank’s neck. They both broke into jagged smiles, expressions crooked and sharp like pieces from the fractured mirror in front of them. Frank tongued at his lip ring, and as he watched the jewelry twirl, Gerard asked, "don’t you agree, Frankie?”</p><p>"Mmm," Frank rested his head back on the bed of Gerard’s shoulder. “Unclear question,” he taunted, “you talkin' about being close to you, or to me?” </p><p>“Whichever,” Gerard answered seriously, tugging at Frank’s chain with his teeth. Frank swallowed thickly under the taut choker, and Gerard felt the pull in his jaw and abdomen. <em> “Whoever,” </em> he gritted. </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank exhaled, savoring the sensations Gerard was giving him. “Can’t think of a better way to spend my day off than getting sweaty with you in this nasty ass bathroom.”</p><p>“Are you being honest?” Gerard wanted to know, because he wasn’t so sure anymore. Not after what he’d seen before the last set.</p><p> </p><p>“Who the fuck invited Adam, anyway?” Gerard had said, stabilizing himself against the bar with his fourth double gin and tonic in hand. Nobody was getting carded since Lindsey knew the bartender, and since Stella's cousin was doing door. “For better or for worse”, Lindsey had joked, and Gerard was thinking it was for the better. (Alcohol made him braver, or maybe just stupider. Wasn't much difference between the two, anyway.) "Like, what the fuck is he even doing here? Who's he here for?"</p><p>“It’s a public event, Gee. He's allowed to be here,” Mikey answered, full of disdain. "And he knows all the same people we know. Frank probably invited him or something."</p><p>Gerard had assumed as much.</p><p>Past the silhouettes flanking the bar’s bay windows, a streetlamp glowed. Below it stood Frank and a brown haired dude sporting a nose ring and denim jacket; they were smoking, laughing, talking — and Gerard was watching. Watching as Frank smiled at the guy’s jokes, watching as he lit a fresh cigarette for Frank, watching as he ran his hands over Frank’s scrapes and bruises from the pit, watching as Frank <em> fucking let him </em>and Gerard didn’t need Mikey to tell him who the dude was. The roaring fire in his chest let him know.  </p><p>And it sucked; because Adam was handsome, goddamnit. Handsome in a way Gerard felt he just wasn’t, <em> fucking manly </em> was his first thought, glowering at Adam’s long hair and square jaw and strong brow and broad shoulders. He looked like he knew how to change a tire, but also like he knew who Marc Bolan was, and that just wasn’t fucking fair. He was also taller than Frank (not like that was much of a statement), and from the way his shoulders lined up with the lamppost he was leaned against, Gerard guessed Adam probably had a few inches on him, too. </p><p>Feeling fucked six ways to Sunday, Gerard growled like an angry cat and turned his burning eyes back to Mikey. “There’s something going on between them."</p><p>Mikey looked like he was waiting for a root canal. “They’re friends, Gee,” he said, “you gotta be cool with that.”</p><p>“I don’t have to be cool with shit,” Gerard retorted, picking the straw out of his drink and tossing it to the ground. He tipped the glass back, wincing as the gin and bubbles burned at his throat, and then Mikey snatched the empty glass from Gerard’s hands before he could throw that on the ground, too. </p><p>“You need to fuckin' relax, man,” Mikey said. "You're killing my vibe."</p><p>“Fuck your vibe, and I’ve<em> been </em>relaxed!” Gerard croaked, his voice pitching up. “This Adam bullshit has been happening for like, as long as me and Frank have been together, and it fucking sucks!" </p><p><em> “Together?” </em>Mikey repeated. “I thought you guys were just hooking up. When did it get serious like that?”</p><p>“Well,” Gerard fumbled, shifting his feet, “it’s not like we’re <em>not </em> together. Like, we never said we were, but also never said —”</p><p>“Stop right there,” Mikey put his hand up, and Gerard froze. “Semantics; doesn’t matter. Have you actually talked to him about how the Adam stuff makes you feel?” </p><p>“No," Gerard confessed.</p><p>“Then shut the fuck up. Please,” Mikey begged, "and not just because you’re annoying, but also because Frank isn't even doing anything wrong.”</p><p>“And how do<em> you</em> know that?” Gerard said, accusation dripping from his voice.</p><p>“Jesus, Gerard,” Mikey reeled, "what's the matter with you? It’s like you actually <em> want </em> him to be fucking you over.” </p><p>Gerard gapsed, “I do not!”  </p><p>“Whatever,” Mikey grumbled back. “You’re missing the point. As per fucking usual.”</p><p>“The point is that Frank is fucking around and making me look stupid. That's the point."</p><p>“No. The<em> point, </em>” Mikey echoed, “is that you need to speak to him. He's not a psychic, okay? No one is. If you want someone to know something, you gotta tell them. That’s how communication works, dumbass.”</p><p>Gerard picked the lime out of his glass and popped it in his mouth, acid burning over his gums as he contemplated how to proceed. <em> Talking </em> wasn’t his strong suit, but <em> showing </em>could work. It’d worked whenever Daniel had done it, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Currently, Gerard’s question was hanging from the bathroom ceiling like a noose from the gallows. Frank, unaware he’d been put on trial, furrowed his brow. </p><p>“Um,” he started, taken aback by Gerard’s shift in tone, “yes, I’m being fucking honest?” </p><p><em> Honest, </em> Gerard thought as he turned his face into the curve of Frank’s neck, pressing his cheek to warm metal and salty skin. <em>Li</em><em>ke how you were when you said you wouldn’t make me look stupid? Fucking liar. Liar; </em>the word was his lips; <em> liar, </em> venomous and spiteful; <em> liar, </em>the final verdict.</p><p>Adjudication wouldn’t help him prove his point, though. </p><p>“Wanna make this nasty bathroom nastier?” he said, digging his fingers into Frank’s hips, pleased when Frank pushed back gave him a disgusting grin. He was glad he’d kept that L word behind his teeth, because yeah, this was gonna work. </p><p>“Don’t know if we have the space for a blowjob right now,” Frank laughed, looking askance at the grimy toilet bowl pressed to the sides of their calves. “I’m not sitting on that thing, and neither are you.”</p><p>“We’ll figure something out,” Gerard said to Frank’s skin, smirking at the goosebumps that popped under his lips. He shut his eyes, and before he could speak his next filthy thought, Frank turned around and started kissing him. Frank’s hand was so soft on his cheek that Gerard almost forgot why he was doing this, but then Frank bit down on his lower lip and Gerard relished in the pain, remembering his goal. He bit back and lifted his hands underneath Frank’s shirt, skirting over his nipples. Frank broke the kiss with a moan, and taking it as a sign that he was doing something right, Gerard snaked his free arm around Frank’s back, pressing his forearm to bare skin and sharp shoulder blades. Closer now, he kissed Frank’s jaw as it opened and closed with heavy sighs, teased Frank’s nipples until they were stiff under his fingertips and Frank was hissing under his breath.</p><p>“Holy shit,” Frank swore, one hand firmly around Gerard’s head, the other gripped over the edge of the sink. “Holy fucking shit.”</p><p>“You like this?” Gerard asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank answered. </p><p>“How 'bout this?” Gerard said, and then he pinched Frank’s nipple between his fingers — not too aggressively, but not too timidly, either. Harder than he’d have liked it. </p><p>“Owww!” Frank yelped, and then giggled when Gerard did it again, “yeah, okay, okay, yeah, shit — yes, I fucking like that. God, you're crazy.” </p><p>Gerard grinned and kissed up Frank’s sweaty neck. “You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, and then heat rushed him as Frank practically kicked him closer, trapping him between his legs. Gerard felt Frank’s jaw tense under his lips, and then Frank sputtered, “be rough. More fun like that.”</p><p>With that intel, Gerard moved his lips over to Frank’s jugular vein. He sucked and bit on his warm, rapid pulse, like some kind of fucked up vampire; and Frank, his zealous victim, exhaled ragged, happy breaths as Gerard pinched and licked and bit at his skin. Gerard didn’t stop until his tongue washed with copper; didn’t stop until Frank let out a loud, pained groan, and moved Gerard’s hand between his legs. </p><p>“Feel it,” Frank said, and Gerard’s mouth fell open as he did. “That’s you,” Frank added, smirking, “you did that.” </p><p>“Fuck,” Gerard whimpered, and closed any remaining space between him and Frank, pressing their chests together as he started palming at Frank through his jeans. He could’ve gone right for the skin, but he wanted to fuck around longer, wanted to make Frank squirm more, and he liked teasing himself, too. He used his free hand to tilt Frank’s head back by the hair, and gaped at the mark on his neck; the skin wasn’t broken, but it was red around the edges, impressed with teeth marks, and majorly fucking bruised. Gerard felt his brain melt down his spine and he said, unprompted, “Frankie, I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>Frank’s chest heaved. He glanced sideways at Gerard, pupils blown. “Right now?” He asked, pink in the face. </p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said. The demand hadn’t been part of the plan, but whatever. It seemed to be drawing Frank’s attention back to him. Means to an end. “Right here, right now. C'mon.” </p><p>“But it’s the first time,” Frank pointed out, worry in his voice.</p><p>Gerard was unconcerned. “Not for me,” he moved both hands to Frank’s belt buckle, “not for you, either.” Frank’s head came back down towards his, and Gerard added, “unless you lied.”</p><p>“I didn’t fucking <em>lie,</em>" Frank startled, suddenly grabbing Gerard’s hands and stilling them. His grip was tight on Gerard’s wrists, tight like the knit of his brows when he asked, “what is it with you and lying tonight?"</p><p>Gerard stayed quiet, staring and waiting for Frank to let him go. He did after a second, and then he held Gerard's hands gingerly, a soft look on his face. </p><p>"Sorry," Frank apologized, and huffed through his nose. "I just meant that it’s <em> our </em> first time. Yours and mine. Together.” </p><p>“So?” Gerard said.</p><p><em> “So?” </em> Frank repeated, incredulous. “You want me to fuck you <em> for the first time </em> in the dirtiest bathroom this side of New England while we're surrounded by staph and cocaine residue and I also don’t even have a fucking condom?"</p><p>Gerard looked at Frank, at his big eyes and wide open face, and felt fucking crazy. He just wanted to step back and say <em> oh my god, you’re fucking right. I’m being insane and acting out of jealousy and I’m so fucking sorry. God this is so shitty, let’s just go back to your house and watch Creepshow or something, </em>but that’s not what came out. </p><p>“I know what I want," Gerard said.</p><p>"Man," Frank sighed, slumping down a little. “It's just...not having a condom is kind of a huge issue.”</p><p>“Well, I can probably get one from Mikey,” Gerard suggested, bringing one hand to Frank's face. He brushed his thumb over Frank's cheekbone, and smiled at the warmth of his skin. He was so pretty.</p><p>“I appreciate your horniness and how resourceful it makes you,” Frank laughed airily (and Gerard did too, because it was really hard to stay in character when Frank was so funny and sweet), “but you’re drunk, and I can feel the Ativan kicking in, which means my dick is gonna stop working any second now.”</p><p>Gerard, unswayed, cupped his hand around Frank’s crotch and felt his cock twitch in his palm. “Hm…” </p><p>“Oh,” Frank said, blushing and enthused. “That’s interesting.”</p><p>“Yeah. Super interesting.” Gerard tipped Frank’s chin upwards, the both of them laughed, and denim tensed around Gerard’s hand again. He brushed his lips over Frank’s, softly saying, “so I think we’ve established that your dick fucking works.”</p><p>“Fuckin’ A. It totally does," Frank whispered against Gerard’s lips, "and you’re totally magic, by the way. Don’t know how you do the shit you do. You fuckin' amaze me.” </p><p>Frank talked a lot. Gerard loved it. “Just blessed, I guess,” he responded, finally undoing Frank’s belt. Metal clinked upon the buckle’s release, and Frank sighed while Gerard kissed him slowly, tasting his tongue as well as the bitter pill he’d dissolved on it earlier. Part of Gerard worried about how often Frank did Ativan when he didn’t need it, but the other part of him was more worried about securing his place in Frank’s world; about getting him off. He pulled away to catch his breath, and Frank’s lips followed, chasing him like they were stuck in his orbit. “Greedy,” Gerard teased, “so so greedy.” </p><p>“You put a spell on me,” Frank whined, “s’not my fucking fault.” </p><p>Gerard, enamored, pressed his palm to Frank’s chest and felt Frank’s heartbeat pounding under his hand. He warmed and asked, “I make you feel <em> that </em>good, huh, Fred?”</p><p>“Yeah, Ginger,” Frank answered, smiling earnestly. “You do.”</p><p>Gerard bit his lip and took Frank’s hand in his, glancing down at the <em> ghost </em>tattoo around his wrist. He recalled the story, the pain behind those words, the hurt immortalized in red; the truth as it was writ between layers of skin. He ran his fingers over the script, and as Frank’s eyes burned on him, Gerard wondered where Adam had been when Frank got the tattoo. Wondered what he'd done when Frank had been feeling that way. If he’d helped. If he could do magic, too.</p><p>“Did he ever make you feel as good as I do?” Gerard asked, stroking Frank’s wrist softly. </p><p>Frank’s love drunk stare sobered. “What?” He puzzled, “who?”</p><p>“Adam,” Gerard said. “Could he do what I do? Did he?”</p><p>Frank shrunk like the walls were closing in on him, like the air was being drained from the room and he was withering inward along with his lungs. “Gerard, what the hell?” He said in a hush, removing his hand from Gerard’s grasp. “Why would you ask me that?”</p><p>Gerard’s hands were empty and so was his head. Frank looked so small, and there<em> was </em> no answer; no matter how hard Gerard wracked his brain, there was no way to make what he’d just said any form of appropriate. God, he was a fucking idiot, he knew he should’ve just stuck to showing out. Making a scene was what he did best. </p><p>“Never mind,” Gerard rushed, trying to undo Frank’s jeans, but the button and zipper kept slipping out from beneath his fingers, and his skin was getting tight with fear, his blood hot with rejection and anxiety. </p><p>“Gerard?” Frank worried.</p><p>Daniel had never been this clumsy when it’d been Gerard in Frank’s position, and Gerard’s breathing quickened as he realized how hard he was failing to emulate him, how poor his performance was, how this wasn’t him at all. The gall that had possessed him before disappeared, and now it was just Gerard and his sloppy fingers, Gerard and his thundering head, Gerard and his rapid-fire ramblings. “Never mind, never mind, never mind,” he chanted, unable to open Frank’s zipper, “let's just fuck, okay? Forget I said anything.”</p><p>“Hey, Gerard wait, no,” Frank cooed, grabbing Gerard’s wrists again, “slow down, baby. Hey, look at me.” </p><p>Gerard let Frank seize his hands, but he couldn’t (didn’t want to) look up at him. His brain was frying, he felt it sizzling behind his eyes and above his spine, boiling with paranoia: Frank had never called him <em> baby </em> before, so why was he starting now? Why placate with pet names <em>now? </em> What the fuck was going on? What was he hiding? </p><p>“I’m not mad at you.” Frank reassured him. “It's just, clearly something’s bothering you, and I think —”  </p><p>“Shut. Up.” Gerard choked out, and then he kissed Frank hard. Too hard, like he was trying to hurt him. It was crude, but the clash of their teeth felt right, warranted amongst the mess Gerard and his stupid mouth had created. </p><p>“Gerard!” Frank tried between crushing kisses, “Gee, chill! I’m trying to talk to you!”</p><p>“No talking,” Gerard pleaded against Frank’s lips, “just wanna make you feel good.”</p><p>“No, sweetheart,” Frank whispered back, tenderly, “not like this, baby.”</p><p>Gerard’s skin went cold as Frank pushed him away by the wrists, held him back against the wall, forced his shoulders to the frigid plaster. Frank looked at him like he was doing him a favor, like this was for their own good. Tears started clouding Gerard’s eyes, but he could still see Frank’s face, could still read the tired and hurt and anguish all over it. Silence passed like a fucking hurricane.</p><p>Frank dragged a hand down his face, stopping at his swollen lips. “Gee,” he muttered, “I'm not upset, but that was not fucking cool.”</p><p>And something inside Gerard snapped. </p><p>He broke out of Frank’s grasp. “You wanna know what’s not fucking cool?” He jeered, and Frank looked horrified, like he was staring at some kind of beast about to break free from its restraints (and yeah, that was how Gerard felt). “The bullshit you’re putting me through,” he seethed, “the fuckery you’re constantly performing in front of me and everyone else.”</p><p>Frank looked at him, bewildered. “What bullshit? What fuckery? What?”</p><p>“All the shit with Adam! The girls you’re always flirting with in the dining hall! The fucking — <em>fucking</em> <em> you, </em>you motherfucker! You’re always doing some shit! Always talking to someone, always laughing with someone, smoking with guys, always looking at girls! It drives me fucking cra—”</p><p>“Gerard,” Frank cut in, calm as he looked into Gerard’s frenzied eyes. “Adam is my friend. There is no bullshit with him. Yeah, we used to date, but it’s not like that anymore, and you know that. And the girls in the dining hall, that’s just,” he breathed, hands falling on his thighs, “we're just talking, honey. It’s nothing.”</p><p>“Don’t start with the fucking pet names now, asshole,” Gerard bit, venomous. An exhausted breath tumbled out of Frank, but Gerard pressed on. “What about what you said to Emma? When you said ‘I’ll take you out’. Was that nothing, too?”</p><p>“Yeah, Gerard. It was.”</p><p>God, Frank was cavalier; so unbothered, so nonchalant, so fucking nonplussed, <em>s</em><em>o cool. </em>It made Gerard feel nauseous. </p><p>“I wasn’t being serious. She was worried about Gabe not taking her out, so I said I would, like, as a decency thing. I didn't mean it,” Frank avowed. “I was just being nice.” </p><p>Gerard heard Mikey’s voice saying, <em>“it doesn’t mean anything, Gee”, </em>and then he glared at Frank, at his stupid fucking cute face and cool clothes and<em> his</em> <em>goddamn motherfucking matching hairstyle; </em>and where before he’d seen pinks and blues and blushes of lilac, all he saw now was red. Angry, sweltering, hellish red. </p><p>“That’s your problem, Frank,” Gerard said somberly. “You’re just too fucking nice.”</p><p>Frank stared back at Gerard. There was a quiver in his lip, a shaking weakness that made Gerard want to reach out and wrap both arms around him and tell him how sorry he was (because, somewhere shameful and currently inaccessible, that was true) but Frank was already turning towards the door. </p><p>He sighed as he flipped the lock open. “I’m gonna leave,” he told Gerard with wide, wet eyes, (<em>t</em><em>ell him to stay. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’ll calm down and you want to work it out) </em> “let me know when you decide to stop being such a fucking prick.”</p><p>So Frank left, and Gerard let him. Gerard let him, because Gerard was a coward; because Gerard was crushed, because Gerard’s emotions were intense, and he was indulgent enough to let them render him incensed, incompetent, and immobile. Fucked up things happened all the time, but Gerard had hoped the chaos would spare him and Frank. </p><p>He stared at himself in the mirror, and prayed for a truce.</p><p>***</p><p>At around 2:17am, Mikey would come in for a piss and find Gerard standing in front of the mirror, frozen and unresponsive. He’d do his business and wash up, and then he’d talk to Gerard about how his night was going, even though he knew Gerard couldn’t really understand him. He’d get them outside and call a cab, and as they’d head out for some cheap hotel room, he’d text Alicia to let her know what was going on. He’d apologize for skipping out, but she’d understand, because she was the best girl in the world and he was lucky to have her. Lucky to have someone that took care of him. </p><p>Lucky to have someone whose love made him want to take care of himself, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>FIC REC!!! please read Crossed Out by Haze. it's not completed, but the world is engaging, the descriptions are vivid, the characters are distinct, and i bawled my fucking eyes out at the most recent update. it's so so good.<br/>-----<br/>as always, thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. i hope i'll have the next chapter up sooner than i had this one up, lol. thanks so much and pce out xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>AUTHOR'S NOTE: I changed my username! I used to be velvet_shelter, but now I'm velvet_shiver !!!! Same shit different name!!<br/>----<br/>CW for mentions of abusive relationships/behavior</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow, hey!!! i know it's taken me a long time to publish this one; i'll try not to leave such large gaps btwn updates in the future (sometimes life just gets in the way of shit, y'know?), but for now, please enjoy this chapter and have a gorgeous day/night wherever u are :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Day 0/3 of Color War</b>
</p><p>“Get up.”</p><p>From his throat came a garbled groan, then “what? It’s so early…”; followed by a too-firm pillow against the side of his head, the thump of which knocked his eyes wide open. Sunlight exploded in his skull like a nuclear bomb, and as layers of ocular collagen and protein adjusted to the new light, the bustle of Boston pulled into focus. In adjacent office buildings, caryatid clerks were standing at floor-to-ceiling windows, twisting plastic blinds open and drinking coffee. Below, busses and cars crept down stalemate streets like molasses; and behind it all, the Harbor glittered in sparks of blue and green.</p><p>Once his head stopped throbbing at the sundrenched scene, Gerard was able to see Mikey, too. He was at the foot of the bed, shoving sample size bottles of liquor, tiny botanical shampoos and conditioners, squares of soap, and disposable showercaps into his backpack. He looked like he’d been ready to leave for an hour — his hair was wet (the room smelled warm and fresh, hot shower scent mixed with eucalyptus and lemongrass), he had his glasses on, he was fully dressed — and Gerard felt lazy at best, burdensome at worst. </p><p>“Gotta get back to camp,” Mikey was saying; his voice was stiff, along with his shoulders and upper lip, “Color War starts tonight.”</p><p>Gerard sat up on his elbows and winced as the blanket fell down past his chest, frigid air singeing his tender skin. Symptoms of dehydration worked their way through his body (his mouth tasted like the bottom of a coffee cup, his skull felt like it’d been filled with rocks, his stomach bubbled with sour bile, and a tense headache was forming between his eyebrows), but he ignored the sickness and croaked out, “Fuck, I’m sorry, Mikey.”</p><p>Mikey’s lip cracked upward in a snide motion and he said, “do you even remember what you’re sorry for?”, but before Gerard had a chance to feel the gut-punch, Mikey paused, let out a heavy breath, and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said now, pushing his glasses up his nose, “that was rude of me. I’m just —”</p><p>“Pissed? You deserve to be,” Gerard butt in. The love-shaped things in his life had fallen apart, and he’d dragged his little brother across the broken fragments; even <em> he </em>was frustrated with himself.</p><p>“Oh, I <em> am </em> pissed,” Mikey laughed, swiping a notepad off the desk behind him, “but more than that, I’m just glad I got to you before some coked-out weirdo did — like, that was a fucking stupid place to go catatonic, Gerard,” and he gave Gerard that over-the-glasses glare, “pick a better spot next time.”</p><p><em> There </em> was the gut-punch, thick and low behind his bellybutton. He grimaced. “It’s too early for this,” said Gerard as he checked the clock <em> (8:37am, holy fucking shit) </em>and then swung his legs out of bed, back to his brother and the sun, knees pressed to the wall. </p><p>Every surface he touched was somehow both hot and cold, and nausea scaled up his skin in shingles — he imagined the layers of his skin lifting up like loose tiles on a bathroom floor, peeled upwards to the grout — he buried his head in his hands, and felt the rocks inside his skull flip over. Underneath were bugs, creatures, (leeches) writhing and squirming, every twitching antenna or leg like a kick in the temple. Frank’s face came to his mind’s eye, writ with hurt and confusion like it’d been when he’d slipped out the door, and Gerard had failed to go after him. Gerard groaned and rubbed his eyes until television static danced in front of them, silently hoping the star-like hallucination would take him elsewhere; take him out of his body. </p><p>“You could try saying <em> thank you </em>,” said Mikey.</p><p><em> “Thanks,” </em> Gerard said. It came out like <em> fuck you, </em>but Mikey didn’t seem to notice. He bulldozed on.</p><p>“What happened last night wasn’t normal,” Mikey said. “You know that, right?”</p><p>“It’s not abnormal,” Gerard thought out loud. “I was already drunk, and Frank” (his lips stung at his name) “had just taken Ativan, and we were making out, so I probably just got super high from the residue on his tongue and then I froze up<em> . </em>”</p><p>“Gerard, that’s fucking nonsense,” Mikey said over some clatter (and in the back of his head, Gerard wondered what else was even left to steal from the room), “and Frank wouldn’t leave you alone like that, anyway. Something happened between you guys, and freezing up was your reaction to it.” </p><p>“What, did you talk to him or something?” Gerard accused.</p><p>“No,” Mikey said (and at the cinch of his heart, Gerard realized that there was no answer to that question that could’ve satisfied him). “It’s just not the first time, and it’s not because of the drugs, either. You were sober when Daniel happened.”</p><p>“Mikey, c’mon,” Gerard groaned, feeling his skin prickle. “Not right now, man.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Mikey huffed, and something fell into his backpack with a soft thud, “don’t you think we should talk about it, though?” </p><p>There was doubt in Mikey’s voice; and finally, Gerard dropped his hands on his thighs and glanced back at his brother, uncertainty writ plainly on his face. The wrinkle in his brow told Gerard that Mikey was still trying to figure out if he actually wanted to talk about it, and so Gerard decided to give him an easy out. “No, not really,” he answered, and Mikey laughed at his candidness. “I’m too hungover, man. We can psychoanalyze me later.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mikey chuckled, “sorry. Here.” He smiled softly and tossed Gerard a tiny bottle of water. “Drink.” Gerard crushed the water bottle in two seconds, and laid the crumpled plastic beside him. </p><p>“Y’know,” he smirked at Mikey, “what we <em> should </em> do is get back to camp — because <em> we </em> have a war to win.”</p><p>Mikey’s face warmed. “Get your ass in gear then, Corporal.”</p><p>“Aye aye, Sergeant,” Gerard saluted, and headed for the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day .75/3 of Color War:</b>
</p><p>Two voices, theatrical as they were monotone, crackled over the camp’s ancient announcement system:</p><p><em> “Red’s win at last night’s inaugural basketball game bodes well for the team,” </em> Fletcher intoned, <em> “but Red, now is not the time to get comfortable…”  </em></p><p><em> “As you celebrate this vital, vibrant victory in vivacious varieties of vermilion,” </em> Wyatt led; <em> “Silver fog builds at the rusty horizon,” </em> followed Fletcher, <em> “waiting to overshadow the land.” </em></p><p><em> “And the Shadow, she speaks now!” </em> Wyatt exclaimed. <em> “She warns you, her Scarlet Siblings, that there is a storm coming.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “The skies will turn gray.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Rain will fall upon your fires.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Smoke will spill about the land!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And Red will fall!” </em>
</p><p><em> “Go Gray!” </em>The twins shouted at the same time, and the announcement came to an end.</p><p>Somewhere, in the administrative rooms of Camp Warren, Director Craig shook his head. He knew he should’ve just done the announcements himself. </p><p>***</p><p>The twins’s announcement had been, admittedly, pretty fucking cool — but that was all Gerard could say, really. Two days from now, Gerard predicted, <em> Red </em> would win Capture The Flag, catapulting them to total Color War victory. To Gerard, this future was vivid and bright; unignorable like the crimson that cloaked his body as he stood in the Art Shed, supervising (alongside a bias-blocking Gray counselor) a group of sign-making campers. </p><p>At one table, kids in red shirts were dumping ruby glitter onto construction paper, turning motivations written in white glue into scarlet battle slogans, words sparkling like the makeup on their eyes. At the next table over, a gaggle of Grays worked with their nails painted silver, wrists braced in tin foil, and eyes stone-focused on the cardstock they were swathing in metallic paint — <em> silver, </em> of course.</p><p>Gerard was enjoying watching the kids work (he really wasn’t sure whose sign he liked more: Red’s was dazzling and flashy, while Gray’s was sophisticated and definitely more intimidating) when his phone buzzed. </p><p><em> Frank: </em>hey G</p><p>Quickly, Gerard excused himself to the bathroom. </p><p>The phone shook in his hand as he held it. He’d been doing a stellar job at avoiding Frank (the camp being split into two sides helped), but he’d still been plagued by images and feelings tied to him. Last night, he’d had an anxious dream in which he was in a blackened hallway, running from an oncoming wave of red rose petals, and when he’d woken up, he’d found a dull ache in his sternum and a craving for mango on his lips. His eyes burned at the screen.</p><p><em> Frank: </em>can we talk?</p><p>Gerard bit his nail and, in a stupid hurry, typed out <em> abt what? </em></p><p><em> Frank: </em>r u joking???</p><p>
  <em> INCOMING CALL FROM: Frank </em>
</p><p>“What?” Gerard cut into the call, his voice unintentionally sharp.</p><p>“Hey,” Frank answered. He sounded strained; congested, like he’d been crying. Maybe he had been. “What’s up?”</p><p>Gerard couldn’t stop it from coming out. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he said.</p><p>“Okay, um, <em> sorry, </em>” replied Frank, wounded sarcasm dripping from his voice, “but I feel like we should?”</p><p>“What’s there to say?” Gerard wondered. </p><p>“How about <em> ‘I apologize </em>?” Frank croaked out, “or like, if not that, at least a fucking explanation?!” His voice was charged and bitter; but then he took a deep breath and said, so calmly and sweetly, “Sorry, baby. Um, do you seriously not remember, though?”</p><p>Despite the sweat on his brow, Gerard felt cold; empty. “I do remember,” he admitted as he gnawed on his cuticles, “but I don’t know what you want me to say.” There was a scuffing noise on Frank’s end, like a hand going over the receiver, and Gerard heard chatter, rushed and quiet — two muffled voices were speaking, and he couldn’t place the one that wasn’t Frank’s. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Frank? Are you with someone?” he said as the line came back to life with a deep, wooshy exhale followed by a hoarse, rickety cough. </p><p>“Sorry,” Frank rasped, and the syllables were so relaxed it sounded like he was falling asleep, “I guess I don’t really know what I want you to say, either…but <em> I </em>wanna say that though I’m a little mad at you, I’m also kinda not, because I can see that your behavior comes from somewhere — and I get it, I think.”</p><p>Gerard forgot about the other voice that’d been on the line. “My <em> behavior </em>?” He reiterated, a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank replied. “I also wanna say that, despite everything, I still like you,” he said with that shy, cord-twirling tone in his voice, “I don’t know what that says about me,” he let out a laugh, “but it’s true.”</p><p><em> It says that you’re far too good for me, and probably also a little stupid, </em>was what Gerard’s Sweeter Self might’ve said — but Present Gerard was not so refined. He was at a loss for words, nothing in his head but the desire to scratch that eternal itch on his cheek. He dragged his short nails over the nagging skin, and said tersely, “Alright.” </p><p>“Okay,” Frank sighed, “let me just cut to the chase, then: I think what happened in the bathroom wasn’t really about me. My behavior <em> did </em> upset you, and I <em> am </em>sorry about that, but, uh, I don’t think —”</p><p>More muffled conversation replaced Frank's voice, and Gerard could feel himself becoming more tense. Who was he with? (It could be Ray, since they were on the same team? So was Bob, and Alicia too — which meant Mikey might be there with him?) What were they saying? What the fuck?</p><p>“— okay. It’s just, looking back on it, the way you blew up at me was kinda random,” Frank said, like he’d just held a conference on the subject, “it was just too weird to be genuine, if that makes any sense. It was like you were playing a character or something, like it wasn’t even you.”</p><p>Gerard braced himself against the bathroom wall. Frank was right. He was speaking directly to Gerard’s subconscious, his voice like a pick-axe at the wall of his brain — and perhaps Gerard would’ve opened himself up to the blows had he not already felt so wounded, so confused and embarrassed. Frank was there with someone, airing out their dirty laundry to a fucking audience; mocking him and picking him apart to someone else. It wasn’t fucking fair. He felt alone. </p><p>“<em>Like it wasn’t even you’ </em>?” Greard mocked Frank, feeling tight in his chest, “you sound like a fucking after-school special, Frank. Who else would it be, hm? The fucking tooth fairy?” </p><p>“Fuck, Gee. I don’t know,” Frank huffed, and Gerard imagined Frank holding his hand up to his forehead, trying to smooth out the worried creases there, “I guess I just don’t believe you’re actually capable of being like that. Or I don’t <em> want </em>to believe it.” </p><p>“Acting like what? What am I acting like?” Gerard jabbed.</p><p>“A possessive freak.”</p><p>Gerard clenched his jaw. “Fuck you, Frank.”</p><p>“Y’know,” Frank chuckled, “I really wish I had.”</p><p>Gerard might’ve giggled too, if he hadn’t become so irate — in the mirror, he saw that his face was burning an angry red; and his free hand tingled at his side, almost like it was shaking with hunger for broken glass; and at just the wrong time, more quiet chatter broke behind Frank’s line, and that sick, flu-like feeling washed over Gerard (just like it had in Frank’s bathroom, just like it had at that stupid fucking club). Frank spoke.</p><p>“Sorry,” he chuckled on the other line, “that was stupid.” </p><p>“Yeah, it was,” Gerard agreed, glaring at himself in the mirror; at his tight jaw, the flatness of his lips, that little patch of blonde by his ear that was starting to look <em> really </em> out of place.</p><p>“Forget I said it, okay? The point is that I miss you,” said Frank. “I miss kissing you, I miss making you blush, I miss playing with your hair…<em> I miss you, </em>and I like you so fucking much, and it’s making me act stupid,” he sighed. “I just wanna work this out, Gee. I know we can…”</p><p>Gerard was mad, but that didn’t make him immune to Frank’s sweet words. He realized that he’d been missing those things too, the fluttering sensation in his stomach told him so — but its tender presence reminded him of its harsh absence; reminded him how badly he’d needed it in that club bathroom two nights ago, how badly he’d needed Frank to reassure him, how he had failed to communicate that, and how much he’d ended up hurting the both of them. Maybe they deserved to hurt. Maybe they deserved to fall apart.</p><p>“…so can we try?” Frank asked. “Please?”</p><p>Heat burned up Gerard’s esophagus and wrapped around his skull, turning his brain cast iron. “That depends,” Gerard said, “who are you with right now?”</p><p>Frank didn’t even stutter. “Honestly? I’m with Adam.” </p><p>Gerard’s brows went up to his hairline. <em> “What?” </em></p><p>“I know, but he’s the only one I haven’t exhausted with our drama, and —”</p><p>“So you <em> snuck out during fucking Color War </em> to go see him? Is he really worth losing your job over?”</p><p>“He came here actually,” was all Frank said for a moment (“should I say hi to him or something?” Adam wondered, and Frank said “no, definitely not”), followed by, “um, we’re behind the Main Office right now. You could come meet him, if you want?”</p><p>“Frank, why <em> the fuck </em>— like, are you fucking high?!” Gerard cried into the receiver, more so out disbelief than actual curiosity.</p><p>“Well, yeah.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Gerard said. “Here you are, talking about<em> my</em> behavior and shit like that, meanwhile, you’re fucking getting high with your ex-boyfriend as if that’s like, a normal thing to do!”</p><p>“It is normal!” Frank claimed, “we’re fucking friends! That’s what friends do! They get high together!”</p><p>“Well he’s not my fucking friend!” Gerard said, “so why are you having this conversation in front of him? Why are you picking me apart in front of someone I don’t even know?”</p><p>“I don’t know! I just needed the moral support! I’m fucking nervous, man!” </p><p>“What is there to be nervous about?!”</p><p>“This conversation!” Frank yelped, “I’m not good at this kind of thing, okay? I never have been.” He paused and let out a deep breath. “Fuck, Gerard. I know you have feelings about me and Adam’s friendship, and I get that, but Adam’s <em> been </em> my friend, and he’s gonna <em> stay </em> my friend. You’re not going to change that.”</p><p>“Frank,” Gerard started, not actually knowing what would come out next; but then Frank said, “Which means it’d be sweet if you guys got along. This isn’t how I fucking wanted this to go, nor is it what I wanted out of this conversation, but maybe it’s the right thing — maybe you’ll feel better if you meet him. I don’t know what it’ll prove to you if anything, but like, it’s worth a shot,” he suggested, “so get your sexy ass down here, and meet the dude.” </p><p>Gerard had his chest puffed high and tight, like doing so would snuff the flames sweltering behind his ribs. Normally, Frank calling him any iteration of<em> sexy </em>would have him swooning, but right now, it just felt like Frank was trying to divert, trying to delegitimize his frustration by calling him cute names. </p><p>“C’mon, beautiful,” Frank purred into the phone, “what d’you think?”</p><p>Gerard didn’t feel beautiful right now, nor was he really able to <em> think </em> anything. His chest fell and his reserve went along with it. “I will fucking kill the both of you.”</p><p>“I know that was a joke —”</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“— but it wasn’t that funny, Gerard. You’re making me anxious,” Frank said plainly. “Why are you trying to be so controlling?”</p><p>Gerard’s heart stopped. “I’m not.”</p><p>“You’re not even good at it, either,” Frank teased. “You wanna control me? Okay,” he dared, “ask me to choose.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“To choose. Between you or him,” Frank implored. “Since you wanna control me so bad, since you wanna pick who I’m friends with, since you wanna be possessive, fucking ask me to choose. It shouldn’t be that hard, Gee. You’ve almost done it like, sixteen times already.”</p><p>“Frank,” Gerard faltered, and he could feel his heart racing, feel his blood trembling in his veins, everything shaking and moving so fast he thought he might be the sole victim of a rare east coast earthquake, “I can’t do that,” he heard himself saying, “I would never do that to you.”</p><p>“I fucking know, right?!” Frank exclaimed. “So why are you <em>trying </em>to?! You’re not this scary, possessive guy you’re making yourself out to be,” his voice grew tender, soft; unaccusing, “you’re just not, Gerard. I don't even know why you’d wanna be that guy, anyway — but it’s okay, ‘cuz I don’t think you know why, either. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to. We do a lot of shit that doesn’t make sense. Like, as a species.” A pause, followed by a puffy exhale. “So,” he coughed a second later, “the point is this: I’m mega fucking into you, and I think you still like me too, but this part of you that’s trying to control who I’m friends with is super un-sexy, and it scares me, and I don’t even think it’s real. So let’s figure it out, baby. Together.”</p><p>Frank was talking about him like he was a test subject, like he was something to figure out, to study; something that didn’t make sense, something broken, something that needed fixing and later, Gerard would realize Frank hadn’t meant that. Later, he’d realize that Frank was only trying to, in his own imperfect way, show Gerard that he was more than what he’d learned; that when he’d said it wasn’t <em> “real”, </em> what he’d meant was that he could tell those actions had come from somewhere deep, somewhere Gerard didn’t have access to; somewhere that was, despite its very concrete existence, so plagued by fantasy and untruth that whatever came from it was subject to scrutiny — but that was <em> later, </em> and this was <em> now, </em>and for now, Gerard latched only onto the scrutiny. </p><p>“Fuck you, Frank!” He sputtered into the phone, seething, “seriously, <em> fuck you </em> , you sanctimonious piece of shit!” Tears scalded his eyes. He felt fucking raw, ripped open; like everything inside him was on display, ugly and twisted and <em> right there </em> in front of his burning eyes, and it was Frank’s fault. “What is your fucking problem?!”</p><p>“What did I do?” Frank asked, placid.</p><p>“You’re fucking messing with me!” Gerard sobbed, biting his nails. “You just fucking — you’re fucking tearing me apart! How are you so fucking calm right now?! H-How are you being so fucking <em> normal </em> right now <em> ?!” </em> </p><p>“Gerard, slow down —”</p><p>“You got me so fucked up, Frank. Why are you doing this in front of Adam?! Telling him all our shit?! <em> My </em>shit? Making me look crazy — I don’t even fucking know him! God, are you trying to give me a panic attack?!”</p><p>“No! I just wanna help! Oh my God,” said Frank, horrified, “oh, Gerard! I feel fucking awful! I never wanna make you feel like that! All I wanna do is be the guy you’re fucking dating! That’s all!”</p><p>In a moment of burning clarity, Gerard said, “Oh, so we’re <em> dating </em> now?”</p><p>“Um,” Frank hesitated, “aren’t we?”</p><p>Gerard tilted his head up towards the ceiling and stared, <em> hard </em>, as if Jesus would appear in the chipping paint and make sense of all this bullshit. “Frank,” he huffed after a tenable silence and no divine miracle, “do me a favor,” his voice shook, “and do not fucking talk to me. Seriously. For a goddamn long while.”</p><p>Frank sighed. “Okay. I won’t,” he complied, “but um, just to circle back to my original point — like, what I was trying to say before I screwed everything up? — if something’s going on, you can tell me. That’s all I wanted you to know. Like, you can tell me anything, anything in the entire fucking world, whenever you’re ready, and I’ll understa—”</p><p>“<em>Good-fucking-bye </em>, Frank,” Gerard said over incessant protests from Frank, “see you after Red wins Capture The Flag. Asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day 1.75/3 of Color War</b>
</p><p>“I really wish you two would just fucking talk,” Mikey said in the bathhouse mirror, glasses up on his head as he dragged red face paint underneath his eyes.  </p><p>Gerard was standing next to him, painting over Frank’s bleach patch with red hair dye. He felt his bones vibrating as the blonde disappeared underneath the more powerful, more potent color. Fuck matching with Frank. He didn’t want to match with anyone besides his team.</p><p>“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Gerard said, and then pursed his lips when Mikey glared at him a second later. “I mean metaphorically,” he looked at Mikey in the mirror, “like, in the game.” </p><p>Mikey flipped his glasses down onto his face and shook his head. “You’re overreacting.”</p><p>Gerard put down the dye brush. “How, Michael?”</p><p>Mikey cringed at his full name. “Ew. Anyway,” he said as he raked red face paint through his bangs, “Frank needed someone to talk to, and he chose Adam. He chose him because they’re really close, but also because Pete can only handle so much bullshit —”</p><p>“So Pete fucking knows too?!” Gerard croaked.</p><p>“Everyone does! It’s not like either of you are subtle sufferers.” Then hopping back on his original train of thought, Mikey said, “So anyway, he only had Adam around for moral support, and then he suggested that <em> you meet him </em>, which is like, shockingly mature of him —”</p><p>“You should’ve heard how he said it.” </p><p>“— and you acted fucking crazy.” Mikey looked at him gravely, <em> “Again.” </em></p><p>“I did not <em> ‘act crazy’ </em>,” Gerard argued. “You’re giving him too much credit. He was picking me apart. He was messing with me, and pushing me, and making me doubt my own reality and shit like that —”</p><p>“You are so fucking dramatic.”</p><p>“<em> And </em> he was doing it in front of someone I don’t even know. Someone I don’t even like.”</p><p>“I know. But he was trying to help,” Mikey said, trying to keep his tone level, “that’s all he’s ever trying to do.” </p><p>Gerard scoffed. “He’s got a fucking funny way of helping…”</p><p>As a last-ditch effort, Mikey tried, “His intentions were good, dude.”</p><p>Gerard shut it down. “I don’t give a shit what his intentions were. And besides, he’s been hanging out with Adam and hasn’t talked to me at all — so I think it’s pretty fucking obvious what his intentions are <em> now. </em>”</p><p>“He’s not talking to you,” Mikey breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “because you told him not to.”</p><p>“Bullshit.”</p><p>“<em> How? </em> He’s doing exactly what you asked. He’s leaving you alone.”</p><p>“Well, that’s fucking stupid,” Gerard laughed as he scraped some hair dye off his ear. “Because if he really wanted me the way he says he does, he <em> wouldn’t </em> leave me alone. He wouldn’t be <em> able to. </em>”</p><p>“You are a fucking idiot,” Mikey deadpanned. “I don’t understand how you’re taking what is clearly <em> respect </em>as evidence that he doesn’t care about you. Make it make sense, Gee.”</p><p>“Hah! <em> Respect. </em>That’s fucking rich,” Gerard sneered, tossing his hair dying gloves in the trash. “If he respected me, he wouldn’t hang out with Adam the way he does.”</p><p>“Do you not see how controlling you’re being?” Mikey said, and then amended, “or <em> trying </em> to be, at least? <em> Pretending </em>to be?”</p><p>“God, why is everyone saying that?!” Gerard wondered, fuming as he stole some of Mikey’s face paint. He blended it out on his eyes until it turned to a velvet blush; red over his eyelids, pink at his brows. As he blinked, the colors seemed to breathe, and he calmed slightly. “Listen,” he exhaled, “I’m not trying to be controlling, okay? I’m just upset because Frank is like, breaking the rules…” </p><p>Mikey raised his eyebrows. “What rules?” </p><p>Gerard explained, “Y’know, like how If you like someone, you don’t talk to other people? Especially not your ex, I think. Because like, why do you need them, y’know? You broke up with them for a reason. You also <em> got </em> with them for a reason — so if you’re talking, it’s like, kinda suspicious.”</p><p>“This is insane,” Mikey muttered under his breath. </p><p>“All that, <em> and </em> if you like somebody, you do everything you can to make them not upset anymore. You don’t leave them alone when they’re upset.”</p><p>Mikey’s sneakers crunched on the perma-wet concrete floor as he walked to the wash fountain behind Gerard. He sat down with his arms crossed, and lifted his gaze to his brother’s. </p><p>“Whose rules are these, dude?” He asked, “‘cuz they’re not mine. They’re not Alicia’s, and they’re not Frank’s, either.”</p><p>Gerard looked down at his red-stained fingertips, and then at Mikey, mirrored over his shoulder; he was poised for interrogation, arms crossed, head held high; he looked like he was playing detective, <em>the</em> <em>snide little shit, </em>and Gerard inquired, “What ever in the fuck do you mean, Mikey?” </p><p>Mikey rephrased the question cooly, “I mean: <em> where </em> did you learn this shit, Gerard?” </p><p>Cold spilled across his body. He turned around to face his little brother, jaw stiffening as the rage welled up inside him. With his shaking, stained finger pointed at Mikey, he sputtered, “You shut your fucking mouth. Seriously. Not another fucking word.”</p><p>Mikey just shook his head and sighed. “Man, Gerard,” and he looked up at him, “that fucker really messed with you…” </p><p>“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“If I’m wrong, then why are you so bothered?” Mikey interrogated.</p><p>“Because I’m tired of people telling me about <em> my </em> reality,” Gerard gritted, digging his own finger into his chest, not feeling the touch at all, “I’m tired of people thinking <em> they </em> have some superior knowledge about what’s best for <em> me </em> , that they know what’s going on in <em> my </em> head, that they know how <em> I </em>feel.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mikey said with a quirk in his voice, a self-righteous tilt to his head. “Like he did?”</p><p>“Fuck you, Mikey! You’re biased, anyway,” Gerard remembered, and then his tone became cheery, bright. He put his hands on his hips and smiled, teasing his brother, “You never liked him anyway! You said so yourself. Remember that?”</p><p>“I do remember that,” Mikey said, calm as he leaned back on the sink, hands around its wide basin lip. “I didn’t like him because he was selfish with you. I wanted to hang out with you,” he explained, “I wanted to go to parties with you, I wanted to steal shit from GameStop with you, I wanted you to meet my friends…like, I wanted to take you places and spend time with you, ‘cuz like, <em>you’re my fucking</em> <em>brother</em> and you were also about to leave for college — but it was always up to <em>him</em>, and he always said no.”</p><p>“Maybe I didn’t wanna go to your parties,” Gerard suggested, his expression blank. </p><p>Mikey was exhausted. He moved to rub his face, but then he remembered he had paint on his cheeks, and stopped. Lifting his head, he said, “Just fucking admit it, man.”</p><p>“Admit what?!” Gerard wailed, scratching the itch blossoming on his cheek. Again, he couldn’t feel the touch. He was numb all over, frozen in place, and Mikey’s gaze was cold. </p><p>Mikey stared at him and recounted the evidence on his fingers. “He wouldn’t let you go to parties, he <em> clearly </em> got it into your head that talking to other guys was bad, and he broke up with you when you moved into the dorms and he couldn’t, like, <em> own </em> you anymore. That’s not normal, man,” Mikey said. He then looked down and talked to his toes. “I need you to fucking see that, Gerard. I need you to see that the way you’re acting with Frank is like, a play-by-play from <em> him </em> , and it’s fucked up. Like, I’m sympathetic because I have no fucking idea what it’s like to be in a relationship with someone like that, how it hurts you, how it messes with you — but you aren’t <em> like that. </em>You’re not like him,” he looked up at Gerard, desperation written all over his face.</p><p>Gerard felt his brain flip over in his head, felt the wires rearrange and the circuits burst. Something snapped, and then he was moving towards the wash fountain.</p><p>“All of this bullshit was <em> learned </em> ,” Mikey was saying to Gerard as he came to his side, “which means you can <em> unlearn </em> it.”</p><p>“Help me wash my hair,” Gerard responded.</p><p>“Did you hear what I just said?” Mikey said, taken aback.</p><p>“Help me wash my hair.”</p><p>“Gerard,” Mikey tried again, “we have to talk about this, man. Come on.”</p><p>Again, “Help me wash my fucking hair.”</p><p>Mikey sighed. “The dye probably hasn’t even —”</p><p>“I said fucking help me, Mikey!” Gerard yelled, his voice reverberating off the bathhouse walls. His chest rocked with heavy breaths, like his lungs were going to pop. Mikey’s face was stone, and Gerard felt his hands itch to bash it into the ceramic until it became red and unrecognizable. He was shaking.</p><p>“Fucking hell, Gerard,” Mikey huffed, and got up to step on the water release bar. </p><p>***</p><p>Nighttime had fallen on Camp Warren. Dinner had been eaten, the campers had been put to bed, Taps had been played, and Gerard was sitting on the bleachers of the junior unit fire pit, back turned to the other counselors On Watch. In his lap was his sketchbook, illuminated solely by an LED reading light. Above him was the sky; clear, dark, speckled with stars. Beyond the trees in front of him; the lake glittered, a mirror of the world above it and beside it. Ripples on its surface warbled the light from homes on the shoreline, and the water seemed alive; trembling. Gerard was reminded of how he’d shaken earlier. </p><p>He hadn’t been aware of it then, but in the hours following his confrontation with (himself) Mikey, he’d noticed tension in his joints, soreness in his jaw, as well as an ache in his ribs; and when he’d been tasked with drawing out a battle map for tomorrow’s game of Capture the Flag, all his lines had come out crooked, jagged, uneven. His body remembered more of the fight than he did, and that frightened him.</p><p>A cool breeze rolled over his shoulders, and he shivered his gaze down to the sketchbook in his lap. Underneath the reading light was another sketch of Frank (beside it, a draft for that stupid hoodie he’d promised to make him), and Gerard felt that patch of red hair by his ear burning, felt his teeth grinding together, felt his fingers itching around his pencil. </p><p>“Fuck you,” he mumbled to the portrait, to the bulbs of moonlight he’d drawn in Frank’s wide eyes; to the graphite lines whose feather-light texture seemed so wrong now, so incorrect. It was then that pencil in his hand became more like a dagger, executing desecration upon every drawing of Frank: X’s scratched over his eyes, teeth blacked out, bitter curses written around his head and shoulders like sacrilegious haloes. </p><p>That drawing hadn’t been made in brokenness, and all Gerard felt now was brokenness. Like he’d been floated into a sheet of glass and then shattered, pearly shards of himself piled together; pieces joined incongruously. He couldn’t feel it all at once — how angry he was with Frank, with Mikey, (himself,) with the world for bestowing upon him a brain that took things <em> this way, </em> made everything feel so big and so real, so elusive to him — because it’d be too crushing, but through all the confusion, one thing still felt true.  </p><p>Daniel had loved him. </p><p>Nobody understood it, because how could they? It was a kind of passion that had to be felt to be believed. It was a flavor of desire he’d never tasted before, something rare and unusual, something that had breathed so much life into him that when it was gone, he’d nearly died without it. </p><p>Daniel had taken care of him (soup when he was sick, laughter when he was down, orgasms when he was frustrated). He’d understood him (knew what he’d needed before he even did, could anticipate his moves, could read his mind). He’d kept him safe (drove him to and from school, checked on him during the day, didn’t let him hang out with weirdos). He’d never leave Gerard alone, he’d never make Gerard question where his loyalties lay; he’d <em> never </em>have done what Frank was doing. </p><p>Why wasn’t Frank talking to him? Why wasn’t he at Gerard’s door, begging for answers? <em> Because you told him to leave you alone, </em> Mikey had said, but so what? Even when Gerard was too upset to talk, or didn’t feel like talking, Daniel would just stand at the foot of the bed and refuse to leave until he got an answer, until they worked it out. He wanted to make things okay <em> so badly </em> that he’d push and break down whatever stood in his way, and it was brutal at times, but it showed how much he cared — and whatever Frank was doing didn’t feel like that; didn't feel like love. </p><p>Why was Frank so fucking hung up on Adam? Why did he insist on being around him, why did he insist on being his friend? It didn’t make sense to Gerard: they’d broken up, so why stay close? When you broke up with someone, that should be it. That’s what’d (painfully) happened with him and Daniel, anyway. </p><p><em> But Frank’s not Daniel, </em>he thought to himself, and it’d been a thought of vitriol at first — something that should’ve been a catalyst for critique; something that should’ve, in front of his mind’s eye, unraveled the scroll of Frank’s failures and made Gerard’s blood boil right out of his pores — but then it brought a hush to his mind. Calmed him. </p><p>He waded through the maze of his consciousness, and came again to that thought — <em> Frank’s not Daniel </em> — and realized, with a swirling sensation in his chest (the kind predicated upon <em>h</em><em>onesty </em> ; what he felt when he basked in love from his mother, from Mikey, from the richness of being with Frank) that that was good. <em> Very </em> good, actually.</p><p>Frank <em> wasn’t </em> Daniel. Frank did a lot of stuff Daniel didn’t do. </p><p>For one, Frank let Gerard hang out with Mikey. He let him hang out with Lindsey, Ray, the twins, Pete (and everyone else Daniel wouldn’t have liked) — but <em> let </em>wasn’t even the right word, because Gerard had never had to ask for his permission to do so. </p><p>That was another thing: Frank always asked before he did something, big or small <em> (can I sit? Can I touch your hair? Can I come in? I just didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not. Do you wanna go upstairs? Can we talk? Kiss me. Is this okay?) </em> , and Gerard really liked that. It’d become less verbal over time, but it was still there in their physicality, in the cues only they knew; in the turn of Gerard’s hip, the slight curl of Frank’s lip, a squeaky laugh or breathy sigh. These motions of exchange, once so unfamiliar to him, had become innate. He’d learned, because Frank had given him the space to — and then he understood, earth-shatteringly, what Mikey had meant by <em> learning </em> and <em> unlearning.  </em></p><p>So much of what Gerard did with Frank was based on communicating, listening, talking; and Gerard just wasn’t used to that. It was about words, and words had become difficult for Gerard, because he’d seldom used them with Daniel — and he was now realizing that while that sounded romantic, it hadn’t been. </p><p>For better or worse, when he was with Frank, he showed him his voice, his vocabulary, his stories, his passions, and the flaws therewithin. Flaws which Frank had recognized with his own, flaws which Gerard had never had a chance to explore with Daniel — because holding Daniel’s hand was easier than talking to him, kissing him was easier than risking another argument, and sex with him was easier than expressing himself. Maybe that’s why Gerard had made that scene in the club bathroom, because that’d been what he’d learned to do. </p><p>Now he understood what Mikey meant, and now he felt worse. </p><p>Gerard remembered one evening (that’d been like so many before it) when they’d been laying on Gerard’s bed, wrapped up in one another. Mikey had come by to ask if they wanted to come out, and Gerard didn’t even bother speaking to his brother; he just kept watching T.V while Daniel stroked his arm and answered <em> no thanks, Michael, </em>and then when Mikey left in a huff, Daniel pinned him to the bed, making Gerard blush and laugh; and then he’d shown Gerard, in rough moans and happy sighs, exactly why he didn’t need to go anywhere, exactly why nobody could do it better than him — but he’d been wrong. Cataclysmically, apocalyptically, biblically wrong. </p><p><em> Frank </em> did it better, one thousand fucking times better, and the realization of that hit Gerard so hard that he felt sick. He came out of his head and looked down at his hands (covered in graphite, knuckles pulled white, fingertips stained red) under the reading light, and started to cry. </p><p>Everything was better with Frank because it was fucking <em> weird </em>. It was imperfect, silly, pure; and at times, kinda gross — it was the smell of green apple shampoo on a sweaty scalp, it was the sharpness of rubbing alcohol softened by mango, it was the prettiest person in the world offering to wear your cum-stained shorts and being totally serious about it; it was Gerard finding someone who saw him as a person, someone who listened to him, who was patient with him, who had given him far too many chances. Someone who was owed a major fucking apology.</p><p>He wiped his teary cheeks with the back of his hand, and with shaking legs carried himself past where the other counselors were sitting. He made up an excuse (“I’m not feeling well”), and headed to his cabin to sleep for sixteen hours.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i can't believe we're almost done w this story. thank you so much for sticking with me, it rly means a lot. next chapter will be up soon!<br/>-----<br/>fic rec: sad dad club by mousefrnk. i am fucking obsessed w the ray/mikey storyline, and the language throughout the fic is so emotive. i love how the author invites us into the character's heads. i haven't finished it, but it's a sweet story so far &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hello, Gray General Iero,” Gerard said, holding his sketchbook close to his chest. He could feel his heart beating against it.<br/>“Good evening, Red Corporal Way,” said Frank, giving Gerard the once over.<br/>-----<br/>CW for mentions of abusive relationships/behaviors.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OH MY GOD IT'S THE END !!!! wtf. im gonna cry lol<br/>plz enjoy, and thanks so much. for everything &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Day 2.5/3 of Color War: Capture the Flag in progress. Victory imminent. </b>
</p><p>Gerard tapped his fingers atop his closed sketchbook. Around him, campers whizzed by in flashes of color; dashes of gray and red in between leaves of green and clouds of brown dirt. The irritating dust became a catalyst for a fat sneeze, which once expelled from his nostrils earned him no <em>bless you</em> — only silence and a glare — from his brother at the opposite end of the Guard picnic table. Gerard didn't think guarding Red Team Jail with Mikey and Pete would be explicitly <em>fun </em>(especially not with all the moody Gray prisoners around them), but he hadn't expected it to be so quiet. The two of them hadn't said anything to him since the first war siren had sounded. </p><p>Earlier, an attempt at an apology had been made. They'd had a moment alone in the cabin, during which Gerard had told Mikey he’d realized he was right about Daniel. He'd told him that he <em>had</em> been acting like an ass for the past however long, and that he was deeply fucking sorry. Mikey had "accepted" his apology, but it’d sounded empty, frail — like how he’d looked for the past day or so.</p><p>Gerard understood that he was exhausting the kid, and that his apologies were losing their efficacy. He knew he had to actually <em>do </em>better instead of just <em>talk </em>better (and he wanted to start <em>right fucking now), </em>but right now, but it seemed like “doing better” for Mikey Way meant leaving him alone. Letting him decompress with Pete was helping (Gerard could see that from the smile on his face, the blush on his cheeks that he knew wasn’t caused by makeup), and <em>yes, </em>it hurt a little that he couldn’t be that peace for him, but Gerard was trying to live his new belief that it wasn't wise to try and be someone's only peace. That misguided desire was what'd put him in this Frank-less position, after all. </p><p>Just then, a tinny version of Craig’s voice reverberated throughout the campground PA system (Gerard found himself missing Fletcher and Wyatt’s voices) and announced that Red was ahead by 100 points. Pete and Mikey whooped with their hands in the air, but Gerard wasn't so excited. At his end of the table, all he heard were the disappointed sighs of the Grays around him. Their silver-painted faces were dim, unshimmering, bleak; brows knit and lips furrowed — he thought of Frank. </p><p>“Gee?” Mikey was saying, violating their vow of silence, “where you going, man?”</p><p>Gerard hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up. He looked down and saw that his feet were on the dirt, the scuffed caps of his Converse pointed uphill at the team borderline. In a split second, he determined it wouldn’t be that hard to get captured. There had to be Grays in the trees and bushes by the boundary, just waiting for a Red rover to come over. He pressed his sketchbook to the weight hanging in his chest, and kept his back turned to Mikey and Pete as he said, “Jail."</p><p>Laughter erupted from the Gray prisoners, and Gerard half expected Mikey or Pete to get up and seize him, but neither of them did.</p><p>"Gerard!" Pete cried out as Gerard continued to walk away, "When you get there, tell Kelly I love her!" </p><p>He raised his hand in the air and shouted back, "Will do, man!" </p><p>And even with his eyes elsewhere, Gerard knew Mikey was smiling. He could feel its warmth on his back, pushing him forward. </p><p>***</p><p>Gerard got tagged out in a matter of seconds. He found himself in Gray Team jail with Bob, Kelly, and two other counselors as his guards. As soon as Bob had led him over to their picnic table and let his wrists go, Gerard said, “Hi. Where’s Frank?”</p><p>Kelly tossed her silver braids over her shoulder and leaned forwards, hands folded under her chin. “That depends,” she narrowed her eyes, “<em>who wants to know </em>, Red Corporal Way?”</p><p><em> “Yeah,” </em> Bob said in a similar tone, looming over her shoulder. His gray face paint cracked as he glared at Gerard, “Why should we tell you where General Frank Anthony Iero Jr. of Fighter Squadron number 69-420 is?” </p><p>Another guard with blonde hair piped up and said, “Don’t tell him his squadron number, you idiot!”; to which Bob shot back, “stand down, Private O’Malley! This is an issue above your rank.” </p><p>Gerard tried to hide his smile. He wasn’t expecting someone like Bob to be so into the roleplaying aspect of Color War, nor had he expected Bob's teammates to respect the ranking schtick (Private O’Malley was falling back in obsequiousness to Bob, standing at attention). Gerard felt his brain switching gears. He wanted to play along.</p><p>Kelly spoke again, eyes to Bob. “I think his capture was <em> intentional, </em> Lieutenant Bryar.”</p><p>“I concur, Major Owusu,” Bob said, “it’s a suicide mission.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Kelly tipped her nose up at Gerard, “what is your business here, Red Corporal Way? Why have you come to us?” </p><p>“Honorable Grays,” Gerard addressed them, “I come bearing an olive branch.” He held up his sketchbook, acknowledging the curious nods from Kelly and Bob with a shy smile. “As well as special information I believe Gray General Frank Iero of Fighter Squadron number 69-420 must hear.”</p><p>“And what is the nature of this information, Red Corporal Way?” Kelly inquired, looking down her nose at Gerard. Both silver and red glitter channeled the rows between her braids; a beautiful gesture of acknowledgment towards the other team. Usually, people waited until the eleventh hour bonfire to sport a touch of the opposing team's color, but maybe Kelly had wanted to expedite the process — for personal reasons.</p><p>Gerard noticed a soft beating his chest, and a fever on his cheeks. Delicately, he answered, “<em>Personal, </em>Gray Major Owusu. Oh, and Red Officer Wentz wanted me to tell you that he loves you."</p><p>Kelly smiled. “Lieutenant Bryar,” she said to Bob lightly, “escort him to the General.”</p><p>Bob stood up. “Roger that, Major Owusu.”</p><p>***</p><p>On their walk through dirt paths and short bushes, Bob had kept a tight grip on Gerard’s right arm; and though Gerard appreciated his friend’s commitment to character, he was kind of starting to lose feeling in his hand — but then he saw Frank sitting on top of the senior unit pull-up bars in his Gray regalia, and Gerard forgot all about the pins and needles prickling at his muscles. (Alicia and Ray and Nat were there too, but like, <em> Frank, </em>y’know?)</p><p>“Fighter Squadron number 69-420,” Bob announced to the stone-colored squadron upon approach, “I have a prisoner, Red Corporal Gerard Arthur Way, who says he has valuable information for General Iero.”</p><p>“His middle name is Arthur?” Nat whispered to Ray, who laughed. </p><p>“I heard that,” Gerard muttered.</p><p>“Red Corporal, stand down,” Bob ordered. “General Iero, sir — do you accept?”</p><p>Frank looked down, and at the slight curl of his lip, Gerard felt hopeful that forgiveness might be in his future — and if not that, then at least a conversation. He just wanted to say sorry. </p><p>“Yes,” Frank said. He performed an intricate and impressive maneuver to swing down from the top of the pull-up bars, minding his scarred leg. It seemed like that storm had happened ages ago, and yet, Gerard’s head and heart raged just the same as if it were happening all over again; happening inside him. </p><p>“Hello, Gray General Iero,” Gerard said, holding his sketchbook close to his chest. He could feel his heart beating against it.</p><p>“Good evening, Red Corporal Way,” said Frank, giving Gerard the once over.</p><p>Gerard did the same, taking Frank in. The bleached sides of his head had become steel gray, a color that made the green shades in his eyes stand out; like threads of emerald in ropes of silver. His cheeks were dusted in fall out from the silver glitter on his eyelids, giving his face a starlike shimmer that reminded Gerard of how he’d looked on the night they’d met; like some ethereal, celestial spectre who’d crash landed in a punk’s closet. </p><p>Of course, that was back when he’d still thought of Frank as some cosmic being, as something unattainable and unreal. He knew now that Frank was real, so real it could be painful <em> (i wish i were a ghost), </em>that he was connected to and aware of his multitudes, tethered to himself and others in a way that was as healing as it was biting. It was that earthly, fluid, interstitial quality about him that had brought Gerard back to reality; made him stop thinking in black and white. He was so thankful.</p><p>Frank wore a heather gray t-shirt with his team name Sharpie'd on it. The silver duct tape stripes on his stupid basketball shorts and worn out sneakers caught dimming sunlight as he turned to Bob and said, “Release him, Lieutenant Bryar.”</p><p>At Gerard's release, Bob departed and Frank told his squadron to scatter. Alone now, they stared at one another, just blinking and breathing in each other's atmosphere. The two of them were red and gray chess pieces, standing on a board of patchy green grass and muted brown dirt; two figures, still and quiet. The leaves on the trees around them trembled as a cool wind blew, bringing up freshness from the lake, musk from the earth, aerosol dye and green apple from Frank. </p><p>Gerard allowed the beauty to wash over him, and then used the remaining breath in his lungs to say, “Hey, Fred.” </p><p>Frank replied “Hi, Ginger,” and the glitter on his cheeks danced; their footsteps felt all over the floor of Gerard’s heart. Frank gave a wary smile and observed, “You dyed your hair.”</p><p>“I did,” Gerard sighed, fingers curling around the hair by his ear. They’d both colored over the naked bleach on their heads, and though Gerard wasn’t always one for metaphors, he felt that meant something. It’d meant something to him after all, and he wondered, had Frank dyed his in a similar spell of emotion? It was possible. “Frank, I owe you an apology. I'm sorry. For everything.”</p><p>“Come sit with me,” was all Frank said. With a smile, he started towards the pull-up bars. </p><p>“I can’t do a pull-up, Frank." </p><p>Frank laughed. “I know. We’re not gonna sit there. Just follow me.”</p><p>Gerard’s legs, though weak, carried him through the dirt. His gait was confused — a shuffle as opposed to a stride — and that made sense, because <em>Gerard</em> was a little confused. Frank didn't seem angry (he was calm, smiling, laughing even); like Gerard hadn’t done anything wrong at all, or like he'd already forgiven him. But even if that was the case, Gerard still wanted to say his piece. He thought Frank deserved as much.</p><p>They walked under the pull-up bars, then over flat stones, fallen branches, and dirt until they came to a clearing at the edge of the peninsula. Frank walked ahead towards the small cliff there, and Gerard watched as he gave a few spirited jumps up and down on the earth. </p><p>“It’s safe,” Frank announced. </p><p>Gerard blushed as he realized Frank was putting his own safety at risk to demonstrate that the cliff was sturdy; that if they sat there, they’d be okay. Clutching his sketchbook tighter, he looked at Frank and felt enraptured: he was backlit by the sunset, a silhouette with stars on his face. </p><p>“Scared?” Frank asked. </p><p>“No,” Gerard said, walking out to him.</p><p>“Good,” Frank said, taking his seat.</p><p>Gerard’s palm was met with wet earth as he lowered himself down beside Frank. Twigs and sediment poked at his fingers, and then he felt like the world was breathing up into his hand, alive below his crossed legs. It was similar to how Frank made him feel. </p><p>Past the frame of trees above them, whose leaves blackened as the sun began to set, was the lake and the horizon beyond it. A drowsy, warm sky was turning the water a brush-stroked canvas of oranges and pinks and purples, vibrant like stained glass. The sun looked as though it was tucking itself in, laying itself to rest underneath the hem of that vivid, delicate blanket called Lake Quaboag.</p><p>“I’ve never seen it like this,” Gerard marveled, watching the lake glimmer. </p><p>Frank chuckled. “That’s because you’re not scared of it anymore, sweetheart.”</p><p>Gerard put his sketchbook down on his unoccupied side and turned his shoulders towards Frank. He was hit with that shot-in-the-chest feeling he’d once had up on the archery field; and he must have made a silly face, because those crooked teeth were smiling at him. Shyly, Gerard asked, “Are you talking to me in metaphors, Frankie?"</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank admitted, “maybe.”</p><p>Gerard reached for Frank’s hand, momentarily frightened by Frank’s microscopic hesitation, that twitch in his fingers — but then their dirty palms touched, and all doubts and fears left Gerard. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Frank,” he spilled, “I’m so sorry for acting like I did, for scaring you, for being wrongfully jealous, for acting crazy. You were absolutely right, I <em> was </em> trying to be controlling, and that's not okay.”</p><p>Frank squeezed his hand, looking at him with his lips pressed together. “I know,” he muttered, a <em> go on </em>look in his eyes. Gerard obliged it. </p><p>“I didn’t get it before, what you were saying about that ‘not being me’ — but I get it now, and I get the whole thing about it 'coming from somewhere', too,” Gerard gulped, knowing he’d have to talk about <em>that</em> soon as well, “and I wouldn't have been able to figure that out if you hadn't called me on it, and I'm sorry that you even had to do that, and I'm sorry that I responded how I did." He paused to breathe and gather his thoughts. This wasn't exactly easy for him, but Frank holding his hand made it less arduous. He confessed, "I thought you were making fun of me or manipulating me or something, but that wasn't it at all."</p><p>"It wasn't," Frank concurred.</p><p>"Yeah. You were just trying to give me the space to figure out that my behavior wasn't right," Gerard said, "and in return, I acted crazy and treated you terribly. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Okay, you weren’t <em>terrible</em><em>,</em>” Frank corrected him, a smirk on his face as he gazed out at the water. “But you were scary, y’know? And I wasn’t scared because I thought you’d actually hurt me or anything, I know you wouldn’t do that —”</p><p>“I wouldn’t," Gerard promised.</p><p>“Exactly. And that’s why I was freaked out,” Frank turned to him, “because you were acting like someone else, and you weren’t aware of it. That's what I was trying to point out — but like, I think I did come off a little strong...or maybe just mean? I don't know. Either way, I'm sorry.”</p><p>"You don't need to apologize." </p><p>Frank looked serious. "I do, though," he said.</p><p>"Okay," Gerard mumbled, a little taken aback by the sincere shine in Frank's eyes. He took another breath and said, "I don't think you were mean, Frank. You hit some soft spots, and yeah, it was intense, but I'm more aware now because of it." </p><p>"Yeah?" Frank wondered.</p><p>"Yeah." It was strange how easy it was to tell Frank the truth. "Y’know," Gerard went on, "Mikey said something really smart to me the other day —" his heart ached a little at his brother’s name — "that he thinks I <em> learned </em>all that stuff, which means I can unlearn it.”</p><p>“I think Mikey’s right," Frank smiled, "he usually is, after all.”</p><p>Gerard grinned. Though he'd never had a conversation like this before, he felt at ease, and he thought he should let Frank know that. “I’ve never been able to talk to my um,” <em> what the hell are we?, </em>“my, uh —”</p><p>“<em>Significant other, </em> for now,” suggested Frank, hand soft on Gerard’s, his eyes back out at the lake. “We’ll get to that stuff later, baby. Right now, just talk. Let it out.”</p><p>That sounded smart. Gerard nodded and picked up where he left off. “Okay. I’ve never been able to talk to a <em> significant other </em> like this.” He bit his lip and coached himself to just get it out, to just say it, to tell Frank, “My first and only boyfriend was a piece of shit, and I didn’t know how to use my voice with him, so I think that’s why I think it’s been so hard for me to talk, and express myself, and understand you. Mine and his relationship was just really physical, I feel like that's why I acted that way in the club...” Frank was looking at him now, but Gerard was unaware; his eyes were at the lake, fixed on the water lapping at the shore. It calmed him. “I didn’t realize any of this until like, two days ago — and I’m not trying to say that to excuse my behavior with you, I think I should be held accountable for that stuff — but like, I just feel like I'm already seeing things differently, like my perspective has already changed so much." It was such a new truth that declaring it so factually felt reckless; like a baby bird being pushed out of the nest too early — but dammit, the little fucker was out, and it had to fly.</p><p>Gerard looked back at Frank and found that his forehead was creased, his lips downturned, his eyes watering. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Frank said, wiping under his eye with his free hand. “I just kind of thought that’s what’d happened, that you'd had a shitty experience — and I'm just pissed that, for once, I was right about something. Like, why'd it have to be that?” He let out a nervous laugh, and Gerard did too. Frank shook his head, “I’m so fucking mad that that happened to you, Gee. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Thinking about it makes my blood boil.”</p><p>Yeah, Gerard could see that in the tightness of his jaw. “You’re not gonna offer to kill him now, are you?” He joked, stroking Frank’s knuckles with his thumb.</p><p>“I was going to,” Frank laughed, squeezing Gerard’s hand. “Why, you don’t want me to?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Gerard chuckled. It was fucked up to think about killing him, but they were just kidding around — right? “I just think Mikey might want in on it, too.”</p><p>“We can share in the glory, then,” Frank said, scratching his upper lip.</p><p>“Jonesing?” Gerard asked, noticing the tic.</p><p>“Oh,” Frank chirped, looking down at his hand with a laugh. “No. I majorly fucking lied about that. It’s just a nervous tic.” </p><p>Gerard thought about how often Frank had done that during their time together, and couldn’t help but smile. “Do I make you nervous?” He asked.</p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck </em> yeah you do,” Frank said. “That’s another thing — I really like you, and that makes me super nervous, which has been making me act...um, weird.”</p><p>“Is that why you were like, so cagey sometimes? About what we were?”</p><p>“Okay, asshole. Just fucking call me out on it then,” Frank said, picking up a handful of dirt and throwing it at Gerard.</p><p>“Hey!” Gerard cried, and in the ensuing scuffle, Frank clambered over and snuck underneath Gerard’s arm.</p><p>Gerard forgot all about the dirt on his shorts as he tucked Frank closer to him, so happy to have his arms around him again, the weight of his head a privilege to carry on his shoulder. He felt like the conversation was moving in a different direction, but he also felt like that was okay, because he trusted that he and Frank would address all the important stuff. “Sneaky,” he muttered as Frank’s warmth became his own, swirling lively in his chest, “so sneaky.”</p><p>"Mhm,” Frank grinned and put his hand on Gerard’s thigh, resting it there calmly. “But like...back to the question: <em> yeah. </em>That’s probably why I was cagey.” He began tracing soft circles on Gerard’s thigh; demurely, like he was drawing shapes in the sand, "And I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry for being unclear about what I wanted from you. That wasn’t fair of me.”</p><p>Gerard was buzzing at his touch. He cupped Frank’s shoulder and stroked its top with his thumb, carefully saying, “I appreciate that. But y’know, I probably wouldn’t have known how to ask for what I wanted, anyway.”</p><p>Frank sighed. “Maybe. But I just feel like I should’ve known."</p><p>“You couldn’t have,” Gerard reminded him, and then he heard psychic applause from Mikey as he told Frank, “you’re not a mind reader.”</p><p>“Man,” Frank breathed into him, relaxing, “I like you so much better like this. When you’re being yourself instead of...y'know.” </p><p>Despite the lack of venom in Frank’s words, they still stung. Again, Gerard said, “I am really sorry, Frank. I’m sorry for how I let that shit take over me. I’m gonna do better in the future.” Gerard realized then that he was talking about a future in which Frank was present. Was that presumptuous of him? </p><p>“Oh, Gee. I know you’re sorry,” Frank said, his tone sweet, “and I know you’ve been through stuff, and that you’re gonna be dealing with it, and that it’s gonna mess you up sometimes. I don’t want you to think you have to like, be docile and perfect all the time. I’m not expecting that from you. I just want you to be you.”</p><p>Tingles ran down his spine as Frank drew hearts on his thigh. “I also just want you to be you,” Gerard said, “and that includes being Adam’s friend, too. It makes me sick that I’d ever insinuated you couldn’t be.” His voice was trembling, but it was the kind of tremble that came from the training of a new muscle, not the failure of an old one. “I never wanted that,” and he felt Frank’s hand clasp over his on Frank’s shoulder, “I think I was just mad because I didn’t fucking understand how you could be friends with your ex. Like, while everything was happening, I thought I was mad because you were breaking some sort of universal rule about exes and friendship, but now I realize I was just confused because I’d never want to be friends with my ex ever again, so I couldn’t understand why you’d wanna be friends with yours. Mikey would say I was <em>projecting,</em> probably.”</p><p>“Oh, honey…” Frank mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to Gerard’s neck. Gerard wondered if he could feel his pulse there, feel how it raced. </p><p>“It’s obvious to me now how wrong that is. How unfair that was,” Gerard said, kissing the top of Frank’s head. He took in his scent and his eyes watered, the bushes around them warbling into black and green blobs. “I missed you, Frankie. It’s only been like, two fucking days without you —" <em>Camp Time, </em>he thought — "but I really really missed you.”</p><p>“God, me fucking too. Shit,” Frank exhaled. “I’ve missed you, I really fucking have. I just like you, like, so much.”</p><p>He’d said it in such a way that Gerard had to ask, “Is that, like, not common for you?” </p><p>“The opposite,” Frank admitted, whining like he was in pain. “I like everyone I hook up with, or fuck, or date, or whatever — I like them all. I can’t do it if I don’t,” Frank said, and then he pulled back to look at Gerard, showing him a tender face peppered with light freckles and metallic glitter; the tungsten glow of the setting sun reflected in the silver flakes on his cheeks, in the hazel of his eyes. “I like them all, and that sucks, because they don’t always like me back.”</p><p>So Frank had been cagey <em> also </em> because he was insecure; afraid that Gerard didn’t like him back, or that he would change his mind. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “Frank, I like you back,” Gerard blurted out, “I like you back so much it shouldn’t be humanly possible.”</p><p>“I know,” Frank said. “I feel the same way, which is why I wanna be honest with you.”</p><p>The sudden tightness of his lips startled Gerard a little. “Okay,” he said.</p><p>“Well, um, Adam’s gonna be in my band.”</p><p>“Oh!” Gerard laughed. “I thought you were gonna say something, like, so different! That’s great, Frankie. I think that’ll be awesome.”  </p><p>“Yeah,” Frank huffed, and when Gerard looked at him, he noticed that Frank’s irises were trembling, shaking like they were searching Gerard’s for something. A reaction, maybe? Permission?</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” Gerard encouraged, holding Frank’s hand, “let it out. Whatever it is, I won’t be mad. I promise.” </p><p>“Okay,” Frank exhaled. “We did hook up recently. Me and Adam.”</p><p>Gerard had thought so, but the confirmation still hurt. “Oh,” he muttered.</p><p>“It was way before you, though.”</p><p>“Oh!” Gerard exclaimed, perking up.</p><p>Frank went on, a little shyly, “Yeah. We hung out right after shit with Mia ended, like, before Jen and I even started talking, back when I was a fucking mess —”</p><p>Gerard remembered how Frank had looked during that time, all small and sad. </p><p>“— and it just sort of happened, y’know? It was a one time thing. I don’t love him like that anymore.”</p><p>Gerard surmised, “But you love him in a different way.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “He was my first, and he’s my best friend. ‘Course I love him." </p><p>That was the truth, pure and simple. Gerard understood and felt no malice, but couldn’t relate at all. He sat there silently for a moment, just holding Frank’s hand, eyes locked on his. </p><p>Frank was the most beautiful person Gerard had ever met, both inside and out — and there was no difference between his inside and outside, anyway. Everything in shined right out, everything he felt was clear on his face; and it was so honest, so intimidating that it reminded Gerard of volcanoes and riptides and death and lakes and oxygen and breathing and life. </p><p>“Frank, the way you love him is beautiful,” Gerard finally said, surprised at his eloquence, happy at the way Frank’s face lit up. He wanted to speak more, but his jaw had tightened a little, and it wasn’t until Frank nuzzled up closer that he felt it loosen and relax. He rested his chin atop Frank's head, feeling his vibrations when he spoke.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Frank was saying, “just say it, baby. Don’t hold back.”</p><p>Gerard shut his eyes and spoke, unfiltered to the blackness behind his eyes. “I guess I'm sort of jealous that you get to feel that stuff about Adam. You guys have a good relationship, and that hurts a little, because I’ll never be able to have something like that. You get to treasure those memories, but I have to like, rethink everything from that time. It feels like I have to relearn everything about love and romance now.”</p><p>“Oh, Gee,” Frank cooed.</p><p>“I don’t fucking know what’s normal,” Gerard said, and the words continued to pour out of him, “I have no idea what this is supposed to look like. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared I’m going to ruin everything and that I won’t be able to give you what you deserve because I just won’t know how,” Gerard felt Frank’s arms come around his shoulders, which he hadn’t yet realized were shaking, “it wasn't until Mikey started giving me fucking life advice and — fuck. Shit. Mikey’s so mad at me, Frank, and he totally deserves to be —”</p><p>“Sweetheart, take a deep breath.”</p><p>“It was him who made me see how fucked everything had been — and he’d been trying to tell me for so long, but I didn’t really have a reason to listen until I met you, and then you started making me see things differently, which like, <em> thank you</em> for that, but also fuck you, because this is <em>so weird</em> —”</p><p>“Hey,” Frank mumbled to Gerard’s temple, just before he pressed a kiss there, “shh, sweetheart. You’re shaking. Just breathe with me for a second.”</p><p>Gerard gave in and let himself fall into Frank’s arms, let Frank shush him and press his face to his, let tears spill from his eyes and onto both of their cheeks. He felt better as he cried, felt the sour feelings and heaviness leaving him; he imagined it all running off the cliff and into the water, where it would become diluted, less powerful, less strong over him. He felt things changing. </p><p>Frank ran his hand through Gerard’s hair and — after calming him down to a slow inhale and exhale — told him, in no uncertain terms, “Gerard, I am going to fucking kill that guy. I swear to God, I’ll fucking run him over with my car.”</p><p>Gerard laughed, all snotty and congested. “You don’t have a car, Frank.”</p><p>“I’ll fucking get one, then.”</p><p>“You’re crazy,” he said affectionately.</p><p>“Maybe,” said Frank. “Crazy for you, for sure.”</p><p>Feeling like he needed to scold Frank for being cornier than the state of Iowa, Gerard pulled away — but when he looked to Frank, he didn't feel like teasing him anymore. The glitter on Frank's cheekbone had been washed by a blush of red, a stain from his makeup, and Gerard was captivated. He touched his own face and smiled when he saw that his fingers were dusted with silver, sparkling like they'd been dipped in the galaxy. Beautiful.</p><p>Frank was drenched in lost sunlight as he said, “Gerard...I know you think there’s like, something wrong with you because of what happened, but —”</p><p>“I didn’t say that,” Gerard jumped in; but then he checked in with himself (a new skill he was excited to develop), and said, “okay, wait. Maybe I did kind of say that.”</p><p>“Yeah, you kind of did,” Frank agreed, smiling as he reached forward to wipe some of Gerard’s tears away, “but there’s nothing wrong with you, baby. You're okay. You know how to love and be loved. Everyone does.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Gerard mumbled, even though he knew Frank was mostly correct. There were so many people in Gerard's life who he loved — and who made him feel loved, too — that he knew Frank had to be right, but still, he sighed, "I don’t know.”</p><p>“Yeah,<em> you do</em>,” said Frank, running his thumb over Gerard’s cheekbone. “I know that because of how you are with the campers, with Mikey, with me. Y'know, love is intrinsic — in you, just like it is in me — and that means nobody can take it from you. You don't have to believe me, but it's true.” </p><p>As the sensation of Frank’s hands on his skin became more apparent, Gerard felt his veins slow and release, like he’d been frozen for ages and Frank had just thawed him out. Gerard's mind slowed, his breathing eased. He was alight in Frank's glow.</p><p>Frank tucked Gerard’s red hair behind his ear, his fingers lingering in it before he asked, “All good, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said, turning his face in to kiss Frank’s palm. There was actual dirt and sweat on it, but Gerard didn’t care. The earthy flavor made him smile. “I’m okay. It's okay.”</p><p>“Okay. Good. Just checking,” Frank smiled, dropping his hand back in his lap; and a moment later, it was at his upper lip, scratching the skin there.</p><p>“What?” Gerard checked in.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Frank said quietly. “I guess I’m just thinking, like I know we really like each other, but if it’s too much right now, if you need to figure stuff out, if now's not the right time...we don’t have to do anything. I won’t be upset if that’s what you want.”</p><p>Gerard knew Frank was being genuine, that he truly wasn’t expecting anything from him, but he still thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. There was no "right time" for Gerard, because there would always be something to discourage him from moving forward; something to frighten him, to deter him from expressing himself. It maybe wasn't smart, but it was at least true: "The only thing I want right now is to be with you, Frank.” </p><p>Frank’s expression was hopeful, yet restrained. “It’s not too soon?” </p><p>“No. Yes? Maybe. No. I don’t know. I don’t give a fuck,” Gerard laughed, feeling silly and light in his chest. Frank was gawking back at him, looking absolutely stupid, and so Gerard just put his hand over his and told him, “All I know is that I want to be around you, Frank. You’re everything. You’re like the fucking sun.”</p><p>Frank blushed, eyes going half-lidded as he gazed at Gerard. “So...what you’re saying is,” he smirked, “you wanna be the moon?” </p><p>“Well, when you put it like <em> that,</em>” Gerard chuckled, pretending to mull it over. “Yeah, Frank. I wanna be the moon. I wanna be the moon so fucking badly.” </p><p>“Shit," Frank grinned, "then I guess I <em>really am</em> the center of the universe, after all.”</p><p>“My universe, at least,” Gerard said with his whole heart, and then Frank lunged at him, his weight nearly sending them both toppling over the edge of the cliff. Gerard held on, his arms tight around Frank’s body as he rocked them back over the ledge. “You’re fucking — Frank, we could’ve died!” He said, laughing hysterically as Frank squirmed and giggled in his arms.</p><p>“But we fucking didn’t!” Frank exclaimed, slinging one arm around Gerard’s shoulders, grinning as he outstretched his other one towards the view in front of them. “And look at how fucking beautiful it is,” he said, “look at it. Look at God.”</p><p>“Thought you didn’t believe in God,” Gerard laughed, reaching for his sketchbook.</p><p>“I don’t,” Frank retorted. “But I believe in the godliness of nature and the natural world.”</p><p>Gerard shook his head as he began flipping through the book's pages. “You've been hanging out with the twins, haven't you?"</p><p>“Had to make do while you were having your redemption arc,” Frank teased, and then turned back to Gerard, peering curiously down at his sketchbook. “Is that the war scene from the car?” He asked, pointing to the sketched-out tank on the page.</p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard smiled. “But wait, there’s more…” </p><p>So Gerard held Frank in his lap and showed him the sketches for that hoodie he’d “get started on tomorrow” (he promised), as well as those desecrated portraits of him. Gerard was worried Frank would think he was a serial killer for that, but Frank was a weirdo, and thought they looked kinda cool. He said maybe he’d go on stage like that, “with the X’s on the eyes”, and Gerard thought that sounded sweet. </p><p>Frank sat in Gerard’s lap and, as he admired his drawings, filled Gerard in on what he’d been up to for the past two days. Color War and hanging out with Dante had kept his body occupied, but his mind and heart hadn’t been so lucky. The only drama break poor Pete got was during silent meals (Adam had been even less fortunate, bless him), and Gerard laughed at that, because he’d also been torturing Mikey with his bullshit. </p><p>“I almost killed him yesterday,” Gerard admitted, huffing out a heavy breath. "I gotta apologize to him, too. When he's ready."</p><p>"Yeah. Give him some time," Frank advised. "And I’m really glad you didn’t kill him.”</p><p>“Jesus. Same,” Gerard laughed. <em>That'd be a hard one to explain to Mom.</em></p><p>“Wow,” Frank giggled, leaning back into Gerard’s chest, “we owe everyone a fucking apology, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah, we do,” Gerard agreed. He smiled at the pressure of Frank against his body, and held him tighter. Frank snuggled in closer, sighing as he looked out towards the water, and Gerard followed his gaze — there was a little sailboat out in the middle of the lake, gliding along, ripples ebbing out from its path.  </p><p>“Pretty,” said Frank.</p><p>Gerard smiled. “Sure is,” he said, and then snuck a glance at Frank. He was a mess of colors, silver from his makeup, gray and black from his hair, red from Gerard’s face paint, orange and pink from the sunset, hazel from his big, beautiful eyes. Gerard tasted those words on his tongue again, and this time, he wanted Frank to taste them too. No matter how foolish, no matter how reckless, no matter how indulgent — he just wanted Frank to know what was on his mind. </p><p>“Hey Frank,” Gerard said, warming up all the courage inside him, "I think I might love you.”</p><p>“That’s funny,” replied Frank, meeting Gerard with a dazed expression, “cuz I think I might love you, too.”</p><p>He’d said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, and Gerard smiled as he realized that it could be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so that’s it! holy shit!<br/>if you got this far, thank you so much. your words, kudoses, and readership have meant so much to me.<br/>writing this thing has been crazy. i started it in a stress-induced fit of inspiration: it was summertime; my mom had fallen ill (she's fine now), and i was the only one around to take care of her, so i used this story/world/stuff to keep myself sane — and then, in true neurotic fashion, i used it to drive myself completely fucking nuts for the next few months. it was totally worth it. this was my first time writing something of this magnitude, and i feel like i learned so much about myself as a writer throughout this process. i hope to just keep getting better from here!<br/>so thank you for bearing witness to this lengthy labor of love, dear reader — this wouldn't have continued without you!!<br/>also, massive thank you to my cronies M and C. i love you two forever and ever, and am in debt to your patience as well as your lack thereof. the world is ugly but you're beautiful to me (2008 live version not conventional weapons version, obviously)</p><p>p.s: you can absolutely expect to hear more from me! i don’t know when/what i’ll post next, but i’ve got a ton of WIPs/drafts i’d like to get out there :)</p><p>once again, thanks so much. stay blessed, and may your evening/day be a peaceful one. :)</p>
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